FROM    A     PHOTOGRAPH     TAKEN 
THIS   YEAR    BY    GAB  E  1_  1_,  LONDON 


THE 
TREASURE    OF  HEAVEN 

A  ROMANCE  OF  RICHES 

BY 

MARIE   CORELLI 


AUTHOR   OF 

GOD'S    GOOD    MAN,"  "  THELMA,"  "THE    SORROWS 
OF   SATAN,"   "ARDATH,"   "THE  STORY  OF 
s  A  .DEAD   SELF,"   "FREE    OPINIONS" 
"TEMPORAL   POWER,"   ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 
1906 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 
Published,  August,  1906 


PC 

Vs 

Til 


To 

lertlya 

'A  faithful  friend  is  better  than  gold.' 


AUTHOR'S    NOTE 


BY  the  special  request  of  the  Publishers,  a  portrait  of 
myself,  taken  in  the  spring  of  this  year,  1906,  forms  the 
Frontispiece  to  the  present  volume.  I  am  somewhat  re- 
luctant to  see  it  so  placed,  because  it  has  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  the  story  which  is  told  in  the  following  pages, 
beyond  being  a  faithful  likeness  of  the  author  who  is  re- 
sponsible for  this,  and  many  other  previous  books  which 
have  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  with  a  friendly  reception 
from  the  reading  public.  Moreover,  I  am  not  quite  able 
to  convince  myself  that  my  pictured  personality  can  have 
any  interest  for  my  readers,  as  it  has  always  seemed  to  me 
that  an  author's  real  being  is  more  disclosed  in  his  or 
her  work  than  in  any  portrayed  presentment  of  mere 
physiognomy. 

But — owing  to  the  fact  that  various  gross,  and  I  think 
I  may  say  libellous  and  fictitious  misrepresentations  of  me 
have  been  freely  and  unwarrantably  circulated  throughout 
Great  Britain,  the  Colonies,  and  America,  by  certain 
"  lower  "  sections  of  the  pictorial  press,  which,  with  .a  zeal 
worthy  of  a  better  and  kinder  cause,  have  striven  by  this 
means  to  alienate  my  readers  from  me, — it  appears  to  my 
Publishers  advisable  that  an  authentic  likeness  of  myself, 
as  I  truly  am  to-day,  should  now  be  issued  in  order  to  pre- 
vent any  further  misleading  of  the  public  by  fraudulent 
inventions.  The  original  photograph  from  which  Messrs. 
Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.  have  reproduced  the  present  photo- 
gravure, was  taken  by  Mr.  G.  Gabell  of  Eccleston  Street, 
London,  who,  at  the  time  of  my  submitting  myself  to  his 
camera,  was  not  aware  of  my  identity.  I  used,  for  the 
nonce,  the  name  of  a  lady  friend,  who  arranged  that  the 
proofs  of  the  portrait  should  be  sent  to  her  at  various  dif- 
ferent addresses, — and  it  was  not  till  this  "  Romance  of 
Riches  "  was  on  the  verge  of  publication  that  I  disclosed 
the  real  position  to  the  courteous  artist  himself.  That  I 
thus  elected  to  be  photographed  as  an  unknown  rather  than 


viii  AUTHOR'S    NOTE 

\ 

a  known  person  was  in  order  that  no  extra  pains  should  be 
taken  on  my  behalf,  but  that  I  should  be  treated  just  as  an 
ordinary  stranger  would  be  treated,  with  no  less,  but  at 
the  same  time  certainly  no  more,  care. 

I  may  add,  in  conclusion,  for  the  benefit  of  those  few 
who  may  feel  any  further  curiosity  on  the  subject,  that  no 
portraits  resembling  me  in  any  way  are  published  any- 
where, and  that  invented  sketches  purporting  to  pass  as  true 
likenesses  of  me,  are  merely  attempts  to  obtain  money  from 
the  public  on  false  pretences.  One  picture  of  me,  taken 
in  my  own  house  by  a  friend  who  is  an  amateur  photog- 
rapher, was  reproduced  some  time  ago  in  the  Strand  Maga- 
zine, The  Boudoir,  Cassell's  Magazine,  and  The  Rapid 
Review;  but  beyond  that,  and  the  present  one  in  this 
volume,  no  photographs  of  me  are  on  sale  in  any  country, 
either  in  shops  or  on  postcards.  My  objection  to  this  sort 
of  "  picture  popularity "  has  already  been  publicly  stated, 
and  I  here  repeat  and  emphasise  it.  And  I  venture  to  ask 
my  readers  who  have  so  generously  encouraged  me  by 
their  warm  and  constant  appreciation  of  my  literary  efforts, 
to  try  and  understand  the  spirit  in  which  the  objection  is 
made.  It  is  simply  that  to  myself  the  personal  "  Self  "  of 
me  is  nothing,  and  should  be,  rightly  speaking,  nothing  to 
any  one  outside  the  circle  of  my  home  and  my  intimate 
friends;  while  my  work  and  the  keen  desire  to  improve 
in  that  work,  so  that  by  my  work  alone  I  may  become 
united  in  sympathy  and  love  to  my  readers,  whoever  and 
wherever  they  may  be,  constitutes  for  me  the  Everything 
of  life. 

MARIE   CORELLI 
STRATFORD-ON-AVON 
July,   1906 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 


CHAPTER     I 

LONDON, — and  a  night  in  June.  London,  swart  and  grim, 
semi-shrouded  in  a  warm  close  mist  of  mingled  human 
breath  and  acrid  vapour  steaming  up  from  the  clammy 
Crowded  streets, — London,  with  a  million  twinkling  lights 
gleaming  sharp  upon  its  native  blackness,  and  looking,  to 
a  dreamer's  eye,  like  some  gigantic  Fortress,  built  line 
upon  line  and  tower  upon  tower, — with  huge  ramparts  raised 
about  it  frowningly  as  though  in  self-defence  against 
Heaven.  Around  and  above  it  the  deep  sky  swept  in  a  ring 
of  sable  blue,  wherein  thousands  of  stars  were  visible,  en- 
camped after  the  fashion  of  a  mighty  army,  with  sentinel 
planets  taking  their  turns  of  duty  in  the  watching  of  a 
rebellious  world.  A  sulphureous  wave  of  heat  half  asphyx- 
iated the  swarms  of  people  who  were  hurrying  to  and  fro 
in  that  restless  undetermined  way  which  is  such  a  pre- 
dominating feature  of  what  is  called  a  London  "  season," 
and  the  general  impression  of  the  weather  was,  to  one  and 
all,  conveyed  in  a  sense  of  discomfort  and  oppression,  with 
a  vague  struggling  expectancy  of  approaching  thunder. 
Few  raised  their  eyes  beyond  the  thick  warm  haze  which 
hung  low  on  the  sooty  chimney-pots,  and  trailed  sleepily 
along  in  the  arid,  dusty  parks.  Those  who  by  chance  looked 
higher,  saw  that  the  skies  above  the  city  were  divinely 
calm  and  clear,  and  that  not  a  cloud  betokened  so  much 
as  the  shadow  of  a  storm. 

The  deep  bell  of  Westminster  chimed  midnight,  that  hour 
of  picturesque  ghostly  tradition,  when  simple  village  maids 
shudder  at  the  thought  of  traversing  a  dark  lane  or  passing 
a  churchyard,  and  when  country  folks  of  old-fashioned 
habits  and  principles  are  respectably  in  bed  and  for  the 
most  part  sleeping.  But  so  far  as  the  fashionable  "  West 
End  "  was  concerned,  it  might  have  been  mid-day.  Every- 
body assuming  to  be  Anybody,  was  in  town.  The  rumble 


2         THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

of  carriages  passing  to  and  fro  was  incessant, — the  swift 
whirr  and  warning  hoot  of  coming  and  going  motor  ve- 
hicles, the  hoarse  cries  of  the  newsboys,  and  the  general 
insect-like  drone  and  murmur  of  feverish  human  activity 
were  as  loud  as  at  any  busy  time  of  the  morning  or  the 
afternoon.  There  had  been  a  Court  at  Buckingham  Palace, 
— and  a  "  special "  performance  at  the  Opera, — and  on 
account  of  these  two  functions,  entertainments  were  going 
on  at  almost  every  fashionable  house  in  every  fashionable 
quarter.  The  public  restaurants  were  crammed  with  luxury- 
loving  men  and  women, — men  and  women  to  whom  the 
mere  suggestion  of  a  quiet  dinner  in  their  own  homes  would 
have  acted  as  a  menace  of  infinite  boredom, — and  these 
gilded  and  refined  eating-houses  were  now  beginning  to 
shoot  forth  their  bundles  of  well-dressed,  well-fed  folk  into 
the  many  and  various  conveyances  waiting  to  receive  them. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  needless  shouting,  and  much 
banter  between  drivers  and  policemen.  Now  and  again  the 
melancholy  whine  of  a  beggar's  plea  struck  a  discordant 
note  through  the  smooth-toned  compliments  and  farewells 
of  hosts  and  their  departing  guests.  No  hint  of  pause  or 
repose  was  offered  in  the  ever-changing  scene  of  uneasy 
and  impetuous  excitation  of  movement,  save  where,  far 
up  in  the  clear  depths  of  space,  the  glittering  star-battalions 
of  a  wronged  and  forgotten  God  held  their  steadfast  watch 
and  kept  their  hourly  chronicle.  London  with  its  brilliant 
"season"  seemed  the  only  living  fact  worth  recognising; 
London,  with  its  flaring  noisy  streets,  and  its  hot  summer 
haze  interposed  like  a  grey  veil  between  itself  and  the  higher 
vision.  Enough  for  most  people  it  was  to  see  the  veil, — be- 
yond it  the  view  is  always  too  vast  and  illimitable  for  the 
little  vanities  of  ordinary  mortal  minds. 

Amid  all  the  din  and  turmoil  of  fashion  and  folly  seek- 
ing its  own  in  the  great  English  capital  at  the  midnight 
hour,  a  certain  corner  of  an  exclusively  fashionable  quar- 
ter seemed  strangely  quiet  and  sequestered,  and  this  was 
the  back  of  one  of  the  row  of  palace-like  dwellings  known 
as  Carlton  House  Terrace.  Occasionally  a  silent-wheeled 
hansom,  brougham,  or  flashing  motor-car  sped  swiftly  along 
the  Mall,  towards  which  the  wide  stone  balcony  of  the  house 
projected, — or  the  heavy  footsteps  of  a  policeman  walking 
on  his  beat  crunched  the  gravel  of  the  path  beneath,  but 
the  general  atmosphere  of  the  place  was  expressive  of  soli- 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN          3 

tude  and  even  of  gloom.  The  imposing  evidences  of  great 
wealth,  written  in  bold  headlines  on  the  massive  square 
architecture  of  the  whole  block  of  huge  mansions,  only 
intensified  the  austere  sombreness  of  their  appearance,  and 
the  fringe  of  sad-looking  trees  edging  the  road  below  sent 
a  faint  waving  shadow  in  the  lamplight  against  the  cold 
walls,  as  though  some  shuddering  consciousness  of  hap- 
pier woodland  scenes  had  suddenly  moved  them  to  a  vain 
regret.  The  haze  of  heat  lay  very  thickly  here,  creep- 
ing along  with  slow  stealth  like  a  sluggish  stream,  and  a 
suffocating  odour  suggestive  of  some  subtle  anaesthetic 
weighed  the  air  with  a  sense  of  nausea  and  depression.  It 
was  difficult  to  realise  that  this  condition  of  climate  was 
actually  summer  in  its  prime — summer  with  all  its  glowing 
abundance  of  flower  and  foliage  as  seen  in  fresh  green 
lanes  and  country  dells, — rather  did  it  seem  a  dull  night- 
mare of  what  summer  might  be  in  a  prison  among  crim- 
inals undergoing  punishment.  The  house  with  the  wide 
stone  balcony  looked  particularly  prison-like,  even  more  so 
than  some  of  its  neighbours,  perhaps  because  the  greater 
number  of  its  many  windows  were  shuttered  close,  and 
showed  no  sign  of  life  behind  their  impenetrable  blackness. 
The  only  strong  gleam  of  light  radiating  from  the  inner 
darkness  to  the  outer,  streamed  across  the  balcony  itself, 
which  by  means  of  two  glass  doors  opened  directly  from 
the  room  behind  it.  Here  two  men  sat,  or  rather  half 
reclined  in  easy-cushioned  lounge  chairs,  their  faces  turned 
towards  the  Mall,  so  that  the  illumination  from  the  apart- 
ment in  the  background  created  a  Rembrandt-like  effect  in 
partially  concealing  the  expression  of  the  one  from  the 
other's  observation.  Outwardly,  and  at  a  first  causal 
glance,  there  was  nothing  very  remarkable  about  either  of 
them.  One  was  old ;  the  other  more  than  middle-aged. 
Both  were  in  evening-dress, — both  smoked  idly,  and  ap- 
parently not  so  much  for  the  pleasure  of  smoking  as  for 
lack  of  something  better  to  do,  and  both  seemed  self-cen- 
tred and  absorbed  in  thought.  They  had  been  conversing 
for  some  time,  but  now  silence  had  fallen  between  them, 
and  neither  seemed  disposed  to  break  the  heavy  spell.  The 
distant  roar  of  constant  traffic  in  the  busy  thoroughfares  of 
the  metropolis  sounded  in  their  ears  like  muffled  thunder, 
while  every  now  and  again  the  soft  sudden  echo  of  dance 
music,  played  by  a  string  band  in  evident  attendance  at 


4          THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

some  festive  function  in  a  house  not  far  away,  shivered 
delicately  through  the  mist  like  a  sigh  of  pleasure.  The 
melancholy  tree-tops  trembled, — a  single  star  struggled 
above  the  sultry  vapours  and  shone  out  large  and  bright 
as  though  it  were  a  great  signal  lamp  suddenly  lit  in  heaven. 
The  elder  of  the  two  men  seated  on  the  balcony  raised  his 
eyes  and  saw  it  shining.  He  moved  uneasily, — then  lifting 
himself  a  little  in  his  chair,  he  spoke  as  though  taking  up  a 
dropped  thread  of  conversation,  with  the  intention  of  de- 
liberately continuing  it  to  the  end.  His  voice  was  gentle 
and  mellow,  with  a  touch  of  that  singular  pathos  in  its  tone 
which  is  customary  to  the  Celtic  rather  than  to  the  Saxon 
vocal  cords. 

"  I  have  given  you  my  full  confidence,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  have  put  before  you  the  exact  sum  total  of  the  matter 
as  I  see  it.  You  think  me  irrational, — absurd.  Good.  Then 
I  am  content  to  be  irrational  and  absurd.  In  any  case  you 
can  scarcely  deny  that  what  I  have  stated  is  a  simple  fact, — a 
truth  which  cannot  be  denied  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  truth,  certainly,"  replied  his  companion,  pulling 
himself  upright  in  his  chair  with  a  certain  vexed  vehemence 
of  action  and  flinging  away  his  half-smoked  cigar,  "  but  it 
is  one  of  those  unpleasant  truths  which  need  not  be  looked 
at  too  closely  or  too  often  remembered.  We  must  all  get 
old — unfortunately, — and  we  must  all  die,  which  in  my  opin- 
ion is  more  unfortunate  still.  But  we  need  not  anticipate 
such  a  disagreeable  business  before  its  time." 

"  Yet  you  are  always  drawing  up  Last  Wills  and  Testa- 
ments," observed  the  other,  with  a  touch  of  humour  in  his 
tone. 

"  Oh  well !  That,  of  course,  has  to  be  done.  The  young- 
est persons  should  make  their  wills  if  they  have  anything  to 
leave,  or  else  run  the  risk  of  having  all  their  household  goods 
and  other  belongings  fought  for  with  tooth  and  claw  by 
their  '  dearest '  relations.  Dearest  relations  are,  according 
to  my  experience,  very  much  like  wild  cats :  give  them  the 
faintest  hope  of  a  legacy,  and  they  scratch  and  squawl  as 
though  it  were  raw  meat  for  which  they  have  been  starving. 
In  all  my  long  career  as  a  solicitor  I  never  knew  one  '  dear- 
est relation '  who  honestly  regretted  the  dead." 

"  There  you  meet  me  on  the  very  ground  of  our  previous 
discussions,"  said  the  elder  man.  "  It  is  not  the  conscious- 
ness of  old  age  that  troubles  me,  or  the  inevitable  approach 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN          5 

of  that  end  which  is  common  to  all, — it  is  merely  the  outlook 
into  the  void, — the  teasing  wonder  as  to  who  may  step  into 
my  place  when  I  am  gone,  and  what  will  be  done  with  the 
results  of  my  life's  labour." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  moved  towards  the  balcony's 
edge,  resting  one  hand  upon  its  smooth  stone.  The  change 
of  attitude  allowed  the  light  from  the  interior  room  to  play 
more  fully  on  his  features,  and  showed  him  to  be  well  ad- 
vanced in  age,  with  a  worn,  yet  strong  face  and  deep-set 
eyes,  over  which  the  shelving  brows  stooped  benevolently 
as  though  to  guard  the  sinking  vital  fire  in  the  wells  of  vision 
below.  The  mouth  was  concealed  by  an  ashen-grey  mous- 
tache, while  on  the  forehead  and  at  the  sides  of  the  temples 
the  hair  was  perfectly  white,  though  still  abundant.  A  cer- 
tain military  precision  of  manner  was  attached  to  the  whole 
bearing  of  the  man, — his  thin  figure  was  well-built  and  up- 
right, showing  no  tendency  to  feebleness, — his  shoulders 
were  set  square,  and  his  head  was  poised  in  a  manner  that 
might  have  been  called  uncompromising,  if  not  obstinate. 
Even  the  hand  that  rested  on  the  balcony,  attenuated  and 
deeply  wrinkled  as  it  was,  suggested  strength  in  its  shape 
and  character,  and  a  passing  thought  of  this  flitted  across 
the  mind  of  his  companion  who,  after  a  pause,  said  slowly : — • 

"  I  really  see  no  reason  why  you  should  brood  on  such 
things.  What's  the  use  ?  Your  health  is  excellent  for  your 
time  of  life.  Your  end  is  not  imminent.  You  are  volun- 
tarily undergoing  a  system  of  self-torture  which  is  quite 
unnecessary.  We've  known  each  other  for  years,  yet  I 
hardly  recognise  you  in  your  present  humour.  I  thought 
you  were  perfectly  happy.  Surely  you  ought  to  be, — you, 
David  Helmsley, — *  King '  David,  as  you  are  sometimes 
called — one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  world !  " 

Helmsley  smiled,  but  with  a  suspicion  of  sadness. 

"  Neither  kings  nor  rich  men  hold  special  grants  of  hap- 
piness," he  answered,  quietly :  "  Your  own  experience  of 
humanity  must  have  taught  you  that.  Personally  speaking, 
I  have  never  been  happy  since  my  boyhood.  This  surprises 
you?  I  daresay  it  does.  But,  my  dear  Vesey,  old  friend 
as  you  are,  it  sometimes  happens  that  our  closest  intimates 
know  us  least!  And  even  the  famous  firm  of  Vesey  and 
Symonds,  or  Symonds  and  Vesey, — for  your  partner  is  one 
with  you  and  you  are  one  with  your  partner, — may,  in  spite 
of  all  their  legal  wisdom,  fail  to  pierce  the  thick  disguises 


6          THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

worn  by  the  souls  of  their  clients.  The  Man  in  the  Iron 
Mask  is  a  familiar  figure  in  the  office  of  his  confidential 
solicitor.  I  repeat,  I  have  never  been  happy  since  my  boy- 
hood  " 

"  Your  happiness  then  was  a  mere  matter  of  youth  and 
animal  spirits,"  interposed  Vesey. 

"  I  thought  you  would  say  that ! " — and  again  a  faint 
smile  illumined  Helmsley's  features.  "  It  is  just  what  every 
one  would  say.  Yet  the  young  are  often  much  more  miser- 
able than  the  old;  and  while  I  grant  that  youth  may  have 
had  something  to  do  with  my  past  joy  in  life,  it  was  not  all. 
No,  it  certainly  was  not  all.  It  was  simply  that  I  had  then 
what  I  have  never  had  since." 

He  broke  off  abruptly.  Then  stepping  back  to  his  chair 
he  resumed  his  former  reclining  position,  leaning  his  head 
Against  the  cushions  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  solitary  bright 
star  that  shone  above  the  mist  and  the  trembling  trees. 

"  May  I  talk  out  to  you  ?  "  he  inquired  suddenly,  with  a 
touch  of  whimsicality.  "  Or  are  you  resolved  to  preach 
copy-book  moralities  at  me,  such  as  '  Be  good  and  you  will 
be  happy  ?  ' ' 

Vesey,  more  ceremoniously  known  as  Sir  Francis  Vesey, 
one  of  the  most  renowned  of  London's  great  leading  so- 
licitors, looked  at  him  and  laughed. 

"  Talk  out,  my  dear  fellow,  by  all  means !  "  he  replied. 
"  Especially  if  it  will  do  you  any  good.  But  don't  ask  me 
to  sympathise  very  deeply  with  the  imaginary  sorrows  of 
so  enormously  wealthy  a  man  as  you  are !  " 

"  I  don't  expect  any  sympathy,"  said  Helmsley.  "  Sym- 
pathy is  the  one  thing  I  have  never  sought,  because  I  know 
it  is  not  to  be  obtained,  even  from  one's  nearest  and  dearest. 
Sympathy!  Why,  no  man  in  the  world  ever  really  gets  it, 
even  from  his  wife.  And  no  man  possessing  a  spark  of 
manliness  ever  wants  it,  except — sometimes " 

He  hesitated,  looking  steadily  at  the  star  above  him, — then 
went  on. 

"Except  sometimes, — when  the  power  of  resistance  is 
weakened — when  the  consciousness  is  strongly  borne  in 
upon  us  of  the  unanswerable  wisdom  of  Solomon,  who 
wrote — '  I  hated  all  my  labour  which  I  had  taken  under  the 
sun,  because  I  should  leave  it  to  the  man  that  should  be 
after  me.  And  who  knows  whether  he  shall  be  a  wise  man 
or  a  fool?'" 


THE     TREASURE    OF     HEAVEN          7 

Sir  Francis  Vesey,  dimly  regretting  the  half-smoked  cigar 
he  had  thrown  away  in  a  moment  of  impatience,  took  out 
a  fresh  one  from  his  pocket-case  and  lit  it. 

"  Solomon  has  expressed  every  disagreeable  situation  hi 
life  with  remarkable  accuracy,"  he  murmured  placidly,  as 
he  began  to  puff  rings  of  pale  smoke  into  the  surrounding 
yellow  haze,  "  but  he  was  a  bit  of  a  misanthrope." 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,"  pursued  Helmsley,  not  heeding  his 
legal  friend's  comment,  "  I  was  happy  chiefly  because  I  be- 
lieved. I  never  doubted  any  stated  truth  that  seemed  beau- 
tiful enough  to  be  true.  I  had  perfect  confidence  in  the 
goodness  of  God  and  the  ultimate  happiness  designed  by 
Him  for  every  living  creature.  Away  out  in  Virginia  where 
I  was  born,  before  the  Southern  States  were  subjected  to 
Yankeedom,  it  was  a  glorious  thing  merely  to  be  alive.  The 
clear,  pure  air,  fresh  with  the  strong  odour  of  pine  and 
cedar, — the  big  plantations  of  cotton  and  corn, — the  colours 
of  the  autumn  woods  when  the  maple  trees  turned  scarlet, 
and  the  tall  sumachs  blazed  like  great  fires  on  the  sides  of 
the  mountains, — the  exhilarating  climate — the  sweetness  of 
the  south-west  wind, — all  these  influences  of  nature  appealed 
to  my  soul  and  kindled  a  strange  restlessness  in  it  which  has 
never  been  appeased.  Never! — though  I  have  lived  my 
life  almost  to  its  end,  and  have  done  all  those  things  which 
most  men  do  who  seek  to  get  the  utmost  satisfaction  they 
can  out  of  existence.  But  I  am  not  satisfied ;  I  have  never 
been  satisfied." 

"And  you  never  will  be,"  declared  Sir  Francis  firmly. 
"  There  are  some  people  to  whom  Heaven  itself  would  prove 
disappointing." 

"  Well,  if  Heaven  is  the  kind  of  place  depicted  by  the 
clergy,  the  poorest  beggar  might  resent  its  offered  attrac- 
tions," said  Helmsley,  with  a  slight,  contemptuous  shrug  of 
his  shoulders.  "After  a  life  of  .continuous  pain  and  strug- 
gle, the  pleasures  of  singing  for  ever  and  ever  to  one's  own 
harp  accompaniment  are  scarcely  sufficient  compensation." 

Vesey  laughed  cheerfully. 

"  It's  all  symbolical,"  he  murmured,  puffing  away  at  his 
cigar,  "  and  really  very  well  meant !  Positively  now,  the 
clergy  are  capital  fellows !  They  do  their  best, — they  keep 
it  up.  Give  them  credit  for  that  at  least,  Helmsley, — they 
do  keep  it  up !  " 

Helmsley  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two. 


8          THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  We  are  rather  wandering  from  the  point,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  What  I  know  of  the  clergy  generally  has  not  taught 
me  to  rely  upon  them  for  any  advice  in  a  difficulty,  or  any 
help  out  of  trouble.  Once — in  a  moment  of  weakness  and 
irresolution — I  asked  a  celebrated  preacher  what  suggestion 
he  could  make  to  a  rich  man,  who,  having  no  heirs,  sought 
a  means  of  disposing  of  his  wealth  to  the  best  advantage  for 
others  after  his  death.  His  reply " 

"  Was  the  usual  thing,  of  course,"  interposed  Sir  Francis 
blandly.  "  He  said,  '  Let  the  rich  man  leave  it  all  to  me, 
and  God  will  bless  him  abundantly ! ' ; 

"  Well,  yes,  it  came  to  that," — and  Helmsley  gave  a  short 
impatient  sigh.  "  He  evidently  guessed  that  the  rich  man 
implied  was  myself,  for  ever  since  I  asked  him  the  question, 
he  has  kept  me  regularly  supplied  with  books  and  pamphlets 
relating  to  his  Church  and  various  missions.  I  daresay  he's 
a  very  good  fellow.  But  I've  no  fancy  to  assist  him.  He 
works  on  sectarian  lines,  and  I  am  of  no  sect.  Though  I 
confess  I  should  like  to  believe  in  God — if  I  could." 

Sir  Francis,  fanning  a  tiny  wreath  of  cigar  smoke  away 
with  one  hand,  looked  at  him  curiously,  but  offered  no 
remark. 

"  You  said  I  might  talk  out  to  you,"  continued  Helms- 
ley — "  and  it  is  perhaps  necessary  that  I  should  do  so,  since 
you  have  lately  so  persistently  urged  upon  me  the  importance 
of  making  my  will.  You  are  perfectly  right,  of  course,  and 
I  alone  am  to  blame  for  the  apparently  stupid  hesitation  I 
show  in  following  your  advice.  But,  as  I  have  already  told 
you,  I  have  no  one  in  the  world  who  has  the  least  claim 
upon  me, — no  one  to  whom  I  can  bequeath,  to  my  own  sat- 
isfaction, the  wealth  I  have  earned.  I  married, — as  you 
know, — and  my  marriage  was  unhappy.  It  ended, — and 
you  are  aware  of  all  the  facts — -in  the  proved  infidelity  of 
my  wife,  followed  by  our  separation  (effected  quietly,  thanks 
to  you,  without  the  vulgar  publicity  of  the  divorce  court), 
and  then — in  her  premature  death.  Notwithstanding  all 
this,  I  did  my  best  for  my  two  sons, — you  are  a  witness  to 
this  truth, — and  you  remember  that  during  their  lifetime  I 
did  make  my  will, — in  their  favour.  They  turned  out  badly; 
each  one  ran  his  own  career  of  folly,  vice,  and  riotous  dis- 
sipation, and  both  are  dead.  Thus  it  happens  that  here  I 
am, — alone  at  the  age  of  seventy,  without  any  soul  to  care 
for  me,  or  any  creature  to  whom  I  can  trust  my  business, 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN          9 

or  leave  my  fortune.  It  is  not  my  fault  that  it  is  so ;  it  is 
sheer  destiny.  How,  I  ask  you,  can  I  make  any  '  Last  Will 
and  Testament '  under  such  conditions  ?  " 

"If  you  make  no  will  at  all,  your  property  goes  to  the 
Crown,"  said  Vesey  bluntly. 

"  Naturally.  I  know  that.  But  one  might  have  a  worse 
heir  than  the  Crown !  The  Crown  may  be  trusted  to  take 
proper  care  of  money,  and  this  is  more  than  can  often  be 
said  of  one's  sons  and  daughters.  I  tell  you  it  is  all  as 
Solomon  said — '  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit.'  The  amass- 
ing of  great  wealth  is  not  worth  the  time  and  trouble  in- 
volved in  the  task.  One  could  do  so  much  better " 

Here  he  paused. 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Vesey,  with  a  half-smile.  "  What  else  is 
there  to  be  done  in  this  world  except  to  get  rich  in  order  to 
live  comfortably  ?  " 

"I  know  people  who  are  not  rich  at  all,  and  who  never 
will  be  rich,  yet  who  live  more  comfortably  than  I  have  ever 
done,"  replied  Helmsley — "  that  is,  if  to  '  live  comfortably  r 
implies  to  live  peacefully,  happily,  and  contentedly,  taking 
each  day  as  it  comes  with  gladness  as  a  real  '  living '  time. 
And  by  this,  I  mean  '  living,'  not  with  the  rush  and  scram- 
ble, fret  and  jar  inseparable  from  money-making,  but  living 
just  for  the  joy  of  life.  Especially  when  it  is  possible  to- 
believe  that  a  God  exists,  who  designed  life,  and  even  death., 
for  the  ultimate  good  of  every  creature.  This  is  what  1 
believed — once — '  out  in  ole  Virginny,  a  long  time  ago ! ' ' 

He  hummed  the  last  words  softly  under  his  breath, — then 
swept  one  hand  across  his  eyes  with  a  movement  of 
impatience. 

"  Old  men's  brains  grow  addled,"  he  continued.  "  They 
become  clouded  with  a  fog  through  which  only  the  memories 
of  the  past  and  the  days  of  their  youth  shine  clear.  Some- 
times I  talk  of  Virginia  as  if  I  were  home-sick  and  wanted 
to  go  back  to  it, — yet  I  never  do.  I  wouldn't  go  back  to  it 
for  the  world, — not  now.  I'm  not  an  American,  so  I  can 
say,  without  any  loss  of  the  patriotic  sense,  that  I  loathe 
America.  It  is  a  country  to  be  used  for  the  majcing  of 
wealth,  but  it  is  not  a  country  to  be  loved.  It  might  have 
been  the  most  lovable  Father-and-Mother-Land  on  the  globe 
if  nobler  men  had  lived  long  enough  in  it  to  rescue  its  people 
from  the  degrading  Dollar-craze.  But  now,  well ! — those 
who  make  fortunes  there  leave  it  as  soon  as  they  can,  shak- 


10        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

ing  its  dust  off  their  feet  and  striving  to  forget  that  they 
ever  experienced  its  incalculable  greed,  vice,  cunning,  and 
general  rascality.  There  are  plenty  of  decent  folk  in  Amer- 
ica, of  course,  just  as  there  are  decent  folk  everywhere,  but 
they  are  in  the  minority.  Even  in  the  Southern  States  the 
'  old  stock '  of  men  is  decaying  and  dying  out,  and  the  taint 
of  commercial  vulgarity  is  creeping  over  the  former  sim- 
plicity of  the  Virginian  homestead.  No, — I  would  not  go 
tack  to  the  scene  of  my  boyhood,  for  though  I  had  some- 
thing there  once  which  I  have  since  lost,  I  am  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  think  I  should  ever  find  it  again." 

Here  he  looked  round  at  his  listener  with  a  smile  so  sud- 
den and  sweet  as  to  render  his  sunken  features  almost 
youthful. 

"  I  believe  I  am  boring  you,  Vesey !  "  he  said. 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world, — you  never  bore  me,"  replied 
Sir  Francis,  with  alacrity.  "  You  are  always  interesting, 
even  in  your  most  illogical  humour." 

"  You  consider  me  illogical  ?  " 

"  In  a  way,  yes.  For  instance,  you  abuse  America. 
Why?  Your  misguided  wife  was  American,  certainly,  but 
setting  that  unfortunate  fact  aside,  you  made  your  money 
in  the  States.  Commercial  vulgarity  helped  you  along. 
Therefore  be  just  to  commercial  vulgarity." 

"  I  hope  I  am  just  to  it, — I  think  I  am,"  answered  Helms- 
ley  slowly ;  "  but  I  never  was  one  with  it.  I  never  expected 
to  wring  a  dollar  out  of  ten  cents,  and  never  tried.  I  can 
at  least  say  that  I  have  made  my  money  honestly,  and  have 
trampled  no  man  down  on  the  road  to  fortune.  But  then — I 
am  not  a  citizen  of  the  '  Great  Republic.' " 

"  You  were  born  in  America,"  said  Vesey. 

"  By  accident,"  replied  Helmsley,  with  a  laugh,  "  and 
kindly  fate  favoured  me  by  allowing  me  to  see  my  first  day- 
light in  the  South  rather  than  in  the  North.  But  I  was 
never  naturalised  as  an  American.  My  father  and  mother 
were  both  English, — they  both  came  from  the  same  little 
sea-coast  village  in  Cornwall.  They  married  very  young, — 
theirs  was  a  romantic  love-match,  and  they  left  England 
in  the  hope  of  bettering  their  fortunes.  They  settled  in  Vir- 
ginia and  grew  to  love  it.  My  father  became  accountant  to 
a  large  business  firm  out  there,  and  did  fairly  well,  though 
he  never  was  a  rich  man  in  the  present-day  meaning  of  the 
term.  He  had  only  two  children, — myself  and  my  sister, 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        II 

who  died  at  sixteen.  I  was  barely  twenty  when  I  lost  both1 
father  and  mother  and  started  alone  to  face  the  world." 

"  You  have  faced  it  very  successfully,"  said  Vesey ;  "  and 
if  you  would  only  look  at  things  in  the  right  and  reasonable 
way,  you  have  really  very  little  to  complain  of.  Your  mar- 
riage was  certainly  an  unlucky  one " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it !  "  interrupted  Helmsley,  hastily.  "  It 
is  past  and  done  with.  Wife  and  children  are  swept  out  of 
my  life  as  though  they  had  never  been!  It  is  a  curious- 
thing,  perhaps,  but  with  me  a  betrayed  affection  does  not 
remain  in  my  memory  as  affection  at  all,  but  only  as  a  spuri- 
ous image  of  the  real  virtue,  not  worth  considering  or  re- 
gretting. Standing  as  I  do  now,  on  the  threshold  of  the 
grave,  I  look  back, — and  in  looking  back  I  see  none  of  those 
who  wronged  and  deceived  me, — they  have  disappeared  alto- 
gether, and  their  very  faces  and  forms  are  blotted  out  of  my 
remembrance.  So  much  so,  indeed,  that  I  could,  if  I  had 
the  chance,  begin  a  new  life  again  and  never  give  a  thought 
to  the  old !  " 

His  eyes  flashed  a  sudden  fire  under  their  shelving  brows, 
and  his  right  hand  clenched  itself  involuntarily. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  continued,  "  that  a  kind  of  harking  back 
to  the  memories  of  one's  youth  is  common  to  all  aged  per- 
sons. With  me  it  has  become  almost  morbid,  for  daily  and 
hourly  I  see  myself  as  a  boy,  dreaming  away  the  time  in  the 
wild  garden  of  our  home  in  Virginia, — watching  the  fireflies 
light  up  the  darkness  of  the  summer  evenings,  and  listening 
to  my  sister  singing  in  her  soft  little  voice  her  favourite 
melody — 'Angels  ever  bright  and  fair.'  As  I  said  to  you 
when  we  began  this  talk,  I  had  something  then  which  I  have 
never  had  since.  Do  you  know  what  it  was  ?  " 

Sir  Francis,  here  finishing  his  cigar,  threw  away  its  glow- 
ing end,  and  shook  his  head  in  the  negative. 

"  You  will  think  me  as  sentimental  as  I  am  garrulous," 
went  on  Helmsley,  "when  I  tell  you  that  it  was  merely — 
love!" 

Vesey  raised  himself  in  his  chair  and  sat  upright,  opening 
his  eyes  in  astonishment. 

"  Love !  "  he  echoed.  "  God  bless  my  soul !  I  should 
have  thought  that  you,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  could  have 
won  that  easily !  " 

Helmsley  turned  towards  him  with  a  questioning  look. 

"  Why  should  I  '  of  all  men  in  the  world  '  have  won  it?  " 


12        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

lie  asked.  "  Because  I  am  rich  ?  Rich  men  are  seldom,  if 
•ever,  loved  for  themselves — only  for  what  they  can  give  to 
their  professing  lovers." 

His  ordinarily  soft  tone  had  an  accent  of  bitterness  in  it, 
and  Sir  Francis  Vesey  was  silent.  „ 

"  Had  I  remained  poor, — poor  as  I  was  when  I  first 
started  to  make  my  fortune,"  he  went  on,  "  I  might  possibly 
have  been  loved  by  some  woman,  or  some  friend,  for  myself 
alone.  For  as  a  young  fellow  I  was  not  bad-looking,  nor 
had  I,  so  I  flatter  myself,  an  unlikable  disposition.  But  luck 
always  turned  the  wheel  in  my  favour,  and  at  thirty-five  I 
was  a  millionaire.  Then  I  '  fell '  in  love, — and  married  on 
the  faith  of  that  emotion,  which  is  always  a  mistake.  '  Fall- 
ing in  love '  is  not  loving.  I  was  in  the  full  flush  of  my 
strength  and  manhood,  and  was  sufficiently  proud  of  myself 
to  believe  that  my  wife  really  cared  for  me.  There  I  was 
deceived.  She  cared  for  my  millions.  So  it  chances  that 
the  only  real  love  I  have  ever  known  was  the  unselfish 
*  home '  affection, — the  love  of  my  mother  and  father  and 
sister  '  out  in  ole  Virginny,'  '  a  love  so  sweet  it  could  not 
last/  as  Shelley  sings.  Though  I  believe  it  can  and  does 
last, — for  my  soul  (or  whatever  that  strange  part  of  me 
may  be  which  thinks  beyond  the  body)  is  always  running 
back  to  that  love  with  a  full  sense  of  certainty  that  it  is  still 
existent." 

His  voice  sank  and  seemed  to  fail  him  for  a  moment.  He 
looked  up  at  the  large,  bright  star  shining  steadily  above 
him. 

"  You  are  silent,  Vesey,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  speak- 
ing with  an  effort  at  lightness ;  "  and  wisely  too,  for  I  know 
you  have  nothing  to  say — that  is,  nothing  that  could  affect 
the  position.  And  you  may  well  ask,  if  you  choose,  to  what 
does  all  this  reminiscent  old  man's  prattle  tend  ?  Simply  to 
this — that  you  have  been  urging  me  for  the  last  six  months 
to  make  my  will  in  order  to  replace  the  one  which  was 
previously  made  in  favour  of  my  sons,  and  which  is  now 
destroyed,  owing  to  their  deaths  before  my  own, — and  I  tell 
you  plainly  and  frankly  that  I  don't  know  how  to  make  it, 
as  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  whom  I  care  to  name  as  my 
heir." 

Sir  Francis  sat  gravely  ruminating  for  a  moment; — then 
he  said: — 

"  Why  not  do  as  I  suggested  to  you  once  before — adopt  a 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        IS 

child?  Find  some  promising  boy,  born  of  decent,  healthy, 
self-respecting  parents, — educate  him  according  to  your  own 
ideas,  and  bring  him  up  to  understand  his  future  responsi- 
bilities. How  would  that  suit  you  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Helmsley  drily.  "  I  have  heard  of 
parents  willing  to  sell  their  children,  but  I  should  scarcely 
call  them  decent  or  self-respecting.  I  know  of  one  case 
where  a  couple  of  peasants  sold  their  son  for  five  pounds 
in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  trouble  of  rearing  him.  He  turned 
out  a  famous  man, — but  though  he  was,  in  due  course,  told 
his  history,  he  never  acknowledged  the  unnatural  vendors 
of  his  flesh  and  blood  as  his  parents,  and  quite  right  too. 
No, — I  have  had  too  much  experience  of  life  to  try  such  a 
doubtful  business  as  that  of  adopting  a  child.  The  very 
fact  of  adoption  by  so  miserably  rich  a  man  as  myself  would 
buy  a  child's  duty  and  obedience  rather  than  win  it.  I  will 
have  no  heir  at  all,  unless  I  can  discover  one  whose  love 
for  me  is  sincerely  unselfish  and  far  above  all  considerations 
of  wealth  or  worldly  advantage." 

"  It  is  rather  late  in  the  day,  perhaps,"  said  Vesey  after 
a  pause,  speaking  hesitatingly,  "  but — but — you  might 
marry?  " 

Helmsley  laughed  loudly  and  harshly. 

"  Marry !  I !  At  seventy !  My  dear  Vesey,  you  are  a 
very  old  friend,  and  privileged  to  say  what  others  dare  not, 
or  you  would  offend  me.  If  I  had  ever  thought  of  marry- 
ing again  I  should  have  done  so  two  or  three  years  after  my 
wife's  death,  when  I  was  in  the  fifties,  and  not  waited  till 
now,  when  my  end,  if  not  actually  near,  is  certainly  well  in 
sight.  Though  I  daresay  there  are  plenty  of  women  who 
would  marry  me — even  me — at  my  age, — knowing  the  ex- 
tent of  my  income.  But  do  you  think  I  would  take  one  of 
them,  knowing  in  my  heart  that  it  would  be  a  mere  question 
of  sale  and  barter  ?  Not  I ! — I  could  never  consent  to  sink 
so  low  in  my  own  estimation  of  myself.  I  can  honestly 
say  I  have  never  wronged  any  woman.  I  shall  not  begin 
now." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  take  that  view  of  it,"  mur- 
mured Sir  Francis  placidly.  "  Life  is  not  lived  nowadays 
as  it  was  when  you  first  entered  upon  your  career.  For  one 
thing,  men  last  longer  and  don't  give  up  so  soon.  Few 
consider  themselves  old  at  seventy.  Why  should  they? 
There's  a  learned  professor  at  the  Pasteur  Institute  who 


14        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

declares  we  ought  all  to  live  to  a  hundred  "and  forty.  If 
he's  right,  you  are  still  quite  a  young  man." 

Helmsley  rose  from  his  chair  with  a  slightly  impatient 
gesture. 

"  We  won't  discuss  any  so-called  '  new  theories,'  "  he  said. 
"  They  are  only  echoes  of  old  fallacies.  The  professor's 
statement  is  merely  a  modern  repetition  of  the  ancient  belief 
in  the  elixir  of  life.  Shall  we  go  in  ?  " 

Vesey  got  up  from  his  lounging  position  more  slowly  and 
stiffly  than  Helmsley  had  done.  Some  ten  years  younger 
as  he  was,  he  was  evidently  less  active. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  he  squared  his  shoulders  and  drew 
himself  erect,  "  we  are  no  nearer  a  settlement  of  what  I 
consider  a  most  urgent  and  important  affair  than  when  we 
began  our  conversation." 

Helmsley  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  When  I  come  back  to  town,  we  will  go  into  the  question 
again,"  he  said. 

"  You  are  off  at  the  end  of  the  week  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Going  abroad  ?  " 

"  I— I  think  so." 

The  answer  was  given  with  a  slight  touch  of  hesitation. 

"  Your  last  '  function '  of  the  season  is  the  dance  you  are 
giving  to-morrow  night,  I  suppose,"  continued  Sir  Francis, 
studying  with  a  vague  curiosity  the  spare,  slight  figure  of 
his  companion,  who  had  turned  from  him  and,  with  one  foot 
on  the  sill  of  the  open  French  window,  was  just  about  to 
enter  the  room  beyond. 

"  Yes.     It  is  Lucy's  birthday." 

"  Ah !     Miss  Lucy  Sorrel !    How  old  is  she  ?  " 

"Just  twenty-one." 

And,  as  he  spoke,  Helmsley  stepped  into  the  apartment 
from  which  the  window  opened  out  upon  the  balcony,  and 
waited  a  moment  for  Vesey  to  follow. 

"  She  has  always  been  a  great  favourite  of  yours,"  said 
Vesey,  as  he  entered.  "  Now,  why " 

"  Why  don't  I  leave  her  my  fortune,  you  would  ask  ?  " 
interrupted  Helmsley,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm.  "  Well, 
first,  because  she  is  a  woman,  and  she  might  possibly  marry 
a  fool  or  a  wastrel.  Secondly,  because  though  I  have 
known  her  ever  since  she  was  a  child  of  ten,  I  have  no  lik- 
ing for  her  parents  or  for  any  of  her  family  connections. 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        15 

When  I  first  took  a  fancy  to  her  she  was  playing  about  on 
the  shore  at  a  little  seaside  place  on  the  Sussex  coast, — I 
thought  her  a  pretty  little  creature,  and  have  made  rather  a 
pet  of  her  ever  since.  But  beyond  giving  her  trinkets  and 
bon-bons,  and  offering  her  such  gaieties  and  amusements  as 
are  suitable  to  her  age  and  sex,  I  have  no  other  intentions 
concerning  her." 

Sir  Francis  took  a  comprehensive  glance  round  the  mag- 
nificent drawing-room  in  which  he  now  stood, — a  drawing- 
room  more  like  a  royal  reception-room  of  the  First  Empire 
than  a  modern  apartment  in  the  modern  house  of  a  merely 
modern  millionaire.  Then  he  chuckled  softly  to  himself, 
and  a  broad  smile  spread  itself  among  the  furrows  of  his 
somewhat  severely  featured  countenance. 

"  Mrs.  Sorrell  would  be  sorry  if  she  knew  that,"  he  said. 
"  I  think — I  really  think,  Helmsley,  that  Mrs.  Sorrel  believes 
you  are  still  in  the  matrimonial  market!  " 

Helmsley 's  deeply  sunken  eyes  flashed  out  a  sudden 
searchlight  of  keen  and  quick  inquiry,  then  his  brows  grew 
dark  with  a  shadow  of  scorn. 

"  Poor  Lucy !  "  he  murmured.  "  She  is  very  unfortunate 
in  her  mother,  and  equally  so  in  her  father.  Matt  Sorrell 
never  did  anything  in  his  life  but  bet  on  the  Turf  and  gam- 
ble at  Monte  Carlo,  and  it's  too  late  for  him  to  try  his  hand 
at  any  other  sort  of  business.  His  daughter  is  a  nice  girl 
and  a  pretty  one, — but  now  that  she  has  grown  from  a  child 
into  a  woman  I  shall  not  be  able  to  do  much  more  for  her. 
She  will  have  to  do  something  for  herself  in  finding  a  good 
husband." 

Sir  Francis  listened  with  his  head  very  much  on  one  side. 
An  owl-like  inscrutability  of  legal  wisdom  seemed  to  have 
suddenly  enveloped  him  in  a  cloud.  Pulling  himself  out  of 
this  misty  reverie  he  said  abruptly: — 

"  Well — good-night !  or  rather  good-morning !  It's  past 
one  o'clock.  Shall  I  see  you  again  before  you  leave  town?  " 

"  Probably.     If  not,  you  will  hear  from  me." 

"  You  won't  reconsider  the  advisability  of " 

"  No,  I  won't ! "  And  Helmsley  smiled.  "  I'm  quite 
obstinate  on  that  point.  If  I  die  suddenly,  my  property 
goes  to  the  Crown, — if  not,  why  then  you  will  in  due  course 
receive  your  instructions." 

Vesey  studied  him  with  thoughtful  attention. 

"  You're  a  queer  fellow,  David !  "  he  said,  at  last.     "  But 


16        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

I  can't  help  liking  you.  I  only  wish  you  were  not  quite 
so — so  romantic !  " 

"  Romantic !  "  Helmsley  looked  amused.  "  Romance  and 
I  said  good-bye  to  each  other  years  ago.-  I  admit  that  I  used 
to  be  romantic — but  I'm  not  now." 

"  You  are !  "  And  Sir  Francis  frowned  a  legal  frown 
which  soon  brightened  into  a  smile.  "  A  man  of  your  age 
doesn't  want  to  be  loved  for  himself  alone  unless  he's  very 
romantic  indeed !  And  that's  what  you  do  want ! — and 
that's  what  I'm  afraid  you  won't  get,  in  your  position — not 
as  this  world  goes !  Good-night !  " 

"Good-night!" 

They  walked  out  of  the  drawing-room  to  the  head  of  the 
grand  staircase,  and  there  shook  hands  and  parted,  a  man- 
servant being  in  waiting  to  show  Sir  Francis  to  the  door. 
But  late  as  the  hour  was,  Helmsley  did  not  immediately  re- 
tire to  rest.  Long  after  all  his  household  were  in  bed  and 
sleeping,  he  sat  in  the  hushed  solitude  of  his  library,  writing 
many  letters.  The  library  was  on  a  line  with  the  drawing- 
room,  and  its  one  window,  facing  the  Mall,  was  thrown  open 
to  admit  such  air  as  could  ooze  through  the  stifling  heat  of 
the  sultry  night.  Pausing  once  in  the  busy  work  of  his 
hand  and  pen,  Helmsley  looked  up  and  saw  the  bright  star 
he  had  watched  from  the  upper  balcony,  peering  in  upon 
him  steadily  like  an  eye.  A  weary  smile,  sadder  than  scorn, 
wavered  across  his  features. 

"  That's  Venus,"  he  murmured  half  aloud.  "  The  Eden 
star  of  all  very  young  people, — the  star  of  Love !  " 


CHAPTER     II 

ON  the  following  evening  the  cold  and  frowning  aspect  of 
the  mansion  in  Carlton  House  Terrace  underwent  a  sudden 
transformation.  Lights  gleamed  from  every  window;  the 
strip  of  garden  which  extended  from  the  rear  of  the  building 
to  the  Mall,  was  covered  in  by  red  and  white  awning,  and 
the  balcony  where  the  millionaire  master  of  the  dwelling  had, 
some  few  hours  previously,  sat  talking  with  his  distinguished 
legal  friend,  Sir  Francis  Vesey,  was  turned  into  a  kind  of 
lady's  bower,  softly  carpeted,  adorned  with  palms  and  hot- 
house roses,  and  supplied  with  cushioned  chairs  for  the 
voluptuous  ease  of  such  persons  of  opposite  sexes  as  might 
find  their  way  to  this  suggestive  "  flirtation  "  corner.  The 
music  of  a  renowned  orchestra  of  Hungarian  performers 
flowed  out  of  the  open  doors  of  the  sumptuous  ballroom 
which  was  one  of  the  many  attractions  of  the  house,  and 
ran  in  rhythmic  vibrations  up  the  stairs,  echoing  through 
all  the  corridors  like  the  sweet  calling  voices  of  fabled 
nymphs  and  sirens,  till,  floating  still  higher,  it  breathed  itself 
out  to  the  night, — a  night  curiously  heavy  and  sombre,  with 
a  blackness  of  sky  too  dense  for  any  glimmer  of  stars  to 
shine  through.  The  hum  of  talk,  the  constant  ripple  of 
laughter,  the  rustle  of  women's  silken  garments,  the  clatter 
of  plates  and  glasses  in  the  dining-room,  where  a  costly  ball- 
supper  awaited  its  devouring  destiny, — the  silvery  tripping 
and  slipping  of  light  dancing  feet  on  a  polished  floor — all 
these  sounds,  intermingling  with  the  gliding  seductive  meas- 
ure of  the  various  waltzes  played  in  quick  succession  by  the 
band,  created  a  vague  impression  of  confusion  and  rest- 
lessness in  the  brain,  and  David  Helmsley  himself,  the  host 
and  entertainer  of  the  assembled  guests,  watched  the  bril- 
liant scene  from  the  ballroom  door  with  a  weary  sense  of 
melancholy  which  he  knew  was  unfounded  and  absurd,  yet 
which  he  could  not  resist, — a  touch  of  intense  and  utter 
loneliness,  as  though  he  were  a  stranger  in  his  own  home. 

"  I  feel,"  he  mused.  "  like  some  very  poor  old  fellow  asked 
in  by  chance  for  a  few  minutes,  just  to  see  the  fun !  " 

He  smiled, — yet  was   unable  to  banish  his   depression. 

17 


18        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

The  bare  fact  of  the  worthlessness  of  wealth  was  all  at 
once  borne  in  upon  him  with  overpowering-  weight.  This 
magnificent  house  which  his  hard  earnings  had  purchased, — 
this  ballroom  with  its  painted  panels  and  sculptured  friezes, 
crowded  just  now  with  kaleidoscope  pictures  of  men  and 
women  whirling  round  and  round  in  a  maze  of  music  and 
movement, — the  thousand  precious  and  costly  things  he  had 
gathered  about  him  in  his  journey  through  life, — must  all 
pass  out  of  his  possession  in  a  few  brief  years,  and  there  was 
not  a  soul  who  loved  him  or  whom  he  loved,  to  inherit  them 
or  value  them  for  his  sake.  A  few  brief  years !  And 
then — darkness.  The  lights  gone  out, — the  music  silenced 
— the  dancing  done !  And  the  love  that  he  had  dreamed 
of  when  he  was  a  boy — love,  strong  and  great  and  divine 
enough  to  outlive  death — where  was  it?  A  sudden  sigh 
escaped  him 

"Dear  Mr.  Helmsley,  you  look  so  very  tired !  "  said  a 
woman's  purring  voice  at  his  ear.  "Do  go  and  rest  in  your 
own  room  for  a  few  minutes  before  supper!  You  have 
been  so  kind ! — Lucy  is  quite  touched  and  overwhelmed  by 
all  your  goodness  to  her, — no  lover  could  do  more  for  a  girl, 
I'm  sure  \  But  really  you  must  spare  yourself !  What 
should  we  do  without  you !  " 

"  What  indeed !  "  he  replied,  somewhat  drily,  as  he  looked 
down  at  the  speaker,  a  cumbrous  matron  attired  in  an  over- 
frilled  and  over-flounced  costume  of  pale  grey,  which  deli- 
cate Quakerish  colour  rather  painfully  intensified  the  mottled 
purplish-red  of  her  face.  "  But  I  am  not  at  all  tired,  Mrs. 
Sorrell,  I  assure  you!  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  me — 
I'm  very  well." 

"Are  you  ? "  And  Mrs.  Sorrel  looked  volumes  of  ten- 
derest  insincerity.  "Ah!  But  you  know  we  old  people 
must  be  careful !  Young  folks  can  do  anything  and  every- 
thing— but  we,  at  our  age,  need  to  be  over-particular !  " 

"You  shouldn't  call  yourself  old,  Mrs.  Sorrel,"  said 
Helmsley,  seeing  that  she  expected  this  from  him,  "  you're 
quite  a  young  woman." 

Mrs.  Sorrel  gave  a  little  deprecatory  laugh. 

"  Oh  dear  no !  "  she  said,  in  a  tone  which  meant  "  Oh 
dear  yes !  "  "I  wasn't  married  at  sixteen,  you  know !  " 

"  No  ?     You  surprise  me !  " 

Mrs.  Sorrell  peered  at  him  from  under  her  fat  eyelids 
with  a  slightly  dubious  air.  She  was  never  quite  sure  in 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        19 

her  own  mind  as  to  the  way  in  which  "  old  Gold-Dust,"  as 
she  privately  called  him,  regarded  her.  An  aged  man,  bur- 
dened with  an  excess  of  wealth,  was  privileged  to  have  what 
are  called  "  humours,"  and  certainly  he  sometimes  had  them. 
It  was  necessary — or  so  Mrs.  Sorrel  thought — to  deal  with 
him  delicately  and  cautiously — neither  with  too  much  levity, 
nor  with  an  overweighted  seriousness.  One's  plan  of  con- 
duct with  a  multi-millionaire  required  to  be  thought  out  with 
sedulous  care,  and  entered  upon  with  circumspection.  And 
Mrs.  Sorrell  did  not  attempt  even  as  much  as  a  youthful 
giggle  at  Helmsley's  half-sarcastically  implied  compliment 
with  its  sarcastic  implication  as  to  the  ease  with  which  she 
supported  her  years  and  superabundance  of  flesh  tissue. 
She  merely  heaved  a  short  sigh. 

"  I  was  just  one  year  younger  than  Lucy  is  to-day,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  really  thought  myself  quite  an  old  bride !  I 
was  a  mother  at  twenty-one." 

Helmsley  found  nothing  to  say  in  response  to  this  inter- 
esting statement,  particularly  as  he  had  often  heard  it  before. 

"  Who  is  Lucy  dancing  with  ?  "  he  asked  irrelevantly,  by 
way  of  diversion. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Mr.  Helmsley,  who  is  she  not  dancing 
with ! "  and  Mrs.  Sorrel  visibly  swelled  with  maternal  pride. 
"  Every  young  man  in  the  room  has  rushed  at  her — posi- 
tively rushed ! — and  her  programme  was  full  five  minutes 
after  she  arrived !  Isn't  she  looking  lovely  to-night  ? — a 
perfect  sylph !  Do  tell  me  you  think  she  is  a  sylph !  " 

David's  old  eyes  twinkled. 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  sylph,  Mrs.  Sorrel,  so  I  cannot 
make  the  comparison,"  he  said ;  "  but  Lucy  is  a  very  beau- 
tiful girl,  and  I  think  she  is  looking  her  best  this  evening. 
Her  dress  becomes  her.  She  ought  to  find  a  good  husband 
easily." 

"She  ought, — indeed  she  ought!  But  it  is  very  dif- 
cult — very,  very  difficult!  All  the  men  marry  for  money 
nowadays,  not  for  love — ah! — how  different  it  was  when 
you  and  I  were  young,  Mr.  Helmsley !  Love  was  every- 
thing then, — and  there  was  so  much  romance  and  poetical 
sentiment ! " 

"  Romance  is  a  snare,  and  poetical  sentiment  a  delusion," 
said  Helmsley,  with  sudden  harshness.  "  I  proved  that  in 
my  marriage.  I  should  think  you  had  equally  proved  it  in 
yours ! " 


20        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Mrs.  Sorrell  recoiled  a  little  timorously.  "  Old  Gold- 
Dust "  often  said  unpleasant  things — truthful,  but  emi- 
nently tactless, — and  she  felt  that  he  was  likely  to  say  some 
of  those  unpleasant  things  now.  Therefore  she  gave  a 
fluttering  gesture  of  relief  and  satisfaction  as  the  waltz- 
music  just  then  ceased,  and  her  daughter's  figure,  tall,  slight, 
and  marvellously  graceful,  detached  itself  from  the  swaying 
crowd  in  the  ballroom  and  came  towards  her. 

"  Dearest  child !  "  she  exclaimed  effusively,  "  are  you  not 
quite  tired  out  ?  " 

The  "  dearest  child  "  shrugged  her  white  shoulders  and 
laughed. 

"  Nothing  tires  me,  mother — you  know  that !  "  she  an- 
swered— then  with  a  sudden  change  from  her  air  of  care- 
less indifference  to  one  of  coaxing  softness,  she  turned  to 
Helmsley. 

"You  must  be  tired!"  she  said.  "Why  have  you  been 
standing  so  long  at  the  ballroom  door  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  watching  you,  Lucy,"  he  replied  gently. 
"  It  has  been  a  pleasure  for  me  to  see  you  dance.  I  am  too 
old  to  dance  with  you  myself,  otherwise  I  should  grudge  all 
the  young  men  the  privilege." 

"  I  will  dance  with  you,  if  you  like,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"  There  is  one  more  set  of  Lancers  before  supper.  Will  you 
be  my  partner?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  even  to  please  you,  my  child !  "  and  taking  her 
hand  he  patted  it  kindly.  "  There  is  no  fool  like  an  old 
fool,  I  know,  but  I  am  not  quite  so  foolish  as  that." 

"  I  see  nothing  at  all  foolish  in  it,"  pouted  Lucy.  "  You 
are  my  host,  and  it's  my  coming-of-age  party." 

Helmsley  laughed. 

"  So  it  is !  And  the  festival  must  not  be  spoilt  by  any 
incongruities.  It  will  be  quite  sufficient  honour  for  me  to 
take  you  in  to  supper." 

She  looked  down  at  the  flowers  she  wore  in  her  bodice, 
and  played  with  their  perfumed  petals. 

"  I  like  you  better  than  any  man  here,"  she  said  suddenly. 

A  swift  shadow  crossed  his  face.  Glancing  over  his 
shoulder  he  saw  that  Mrs.  Sorrel  had  moved  away.  Then 
the  cloud  passed  from  his  brow,  and  the  thought  that  for  a 
moment  had  darkened  his  mind,  yielded  to  a  kinder  im- 
pulse. 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        21 

"  You  flatter  me,  my  dear,"  he  said  quietly.  "  But  I 
am  such  an  old  friend  of  yours  that  I  can  take  your  com- 
pliment in  the  right  spirit  without  having  my  head  turned 
by  it.  Indeed,  I  can  hardly  believe  that  it  is  eleven  years 
ago  since  I  saw  you  playing  about  on  the  sea-shore  as  a 
child.  You  seem  to  have  grown  up  like  a  magic  rose,  all 
at  once  from  a  tiny  bud  into  a  full  blossom.  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  I  first  made  your  acquaintance  ?  " 

"As  if  I  should  ever  forget ! "  and  she  raised  her  lovely, 
large  dark  eyes  to  his.  "  I  had  been  paddling  about  in  the 
sea,  and  I  had  lost  my  shoes  and  stockings.  You  found 
them  for  me,  and  you  put  them  on ! " 

"  True !  "  and  he  smiled.  "  You  had  very  wet  little  feet, 
all  rosy  with  the  salt  of  the  sea — and  your  long  hair  was 
blown  about  in  thick  curls  round  the  brightest,  sweetest  little 
face  in  the  world.  I  thought  you  were  the  prettiest  little 
girl  I  had  ever  seen  in  my  life,  and  I  think  just  the  same  of 
you  now." 

A  pale  blush  flitted  over  her  cheeks,  and  she  dropped  him 
a  demure  curtsy. 

"  Thank  you !  "  she  said.  "And  if  you  won't_dance  the 
Lancers,  which  are  just  beginning,  will  you  sit  them  out 
with  me  ?  " 

"  Gladly ! "  and  he  offered  her  his  arm.  "  Shall  we  go 
up  to  the  drawing-room  ?  It  is  cooler  there  than  here." 

She  assented,  and  they  slowly  mounted  the  staircase  to- 
gether. Some  of  the  evening's  guests  lounging  about  in 
the  hall  and  loitering  near  the  ballroom  door,  watched  them 
go,  and  exchanged  significant  glances.  One  tall  woman 
with  black,  eyes  and  a  viperish  mouth,  who  commanded  a 
certain  exclusive  "  set "  by  virtue  of  being  the  wife  of  a 
dissolute  Earl  whose  house  was  used  as  a  common  gam- 
bling resort,  found  out  Mrs.  Sorrel  sitting  among  a  group 
of  female  gossips  in  a  corner,  and  laid  a  patronising  hand 
upon  her  shoulder. 

"Do  tell  me !  "  she  softly  breathed.     "Is  it  a  case  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sorrel  began  to  flutter  immediately. 

"Dearest  Lady  Larford !     What  do  you  mean  !  " 

"  Surely  you  know ! "  And  the  wide  mouth  of  her  lady- 
ship grew  still  wider,  and  the  black  eyes  more  steely. 
"  Will  Lucy  get  him,  do  you  think  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sorrel  fidgeted  uneasily  in  her  chair.  Other  people 
were  listening. 


22        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Really,"  she  mumbled  nervously — "  really,  dear  Lady 
Larford  ! — you  put  things  so  very  plainly ! — I — I  cannot 
say! — you  see — he  is  more  like  her  father " 

Lady  Larford  showed  all  her  white  teeth  in  an  expansive 
grin. 

"  Oh,  that's  very  safe !  "  she  said.  "  The  '  father  '  bus- 
iness works  very  well  when  sufficient  cash  is  put  in  with  it. 
I  know  several  examples  of  perfect  matrimonial  bliss  be- 
tween old  men  and  young  girls — absolutely  perfect!  One 
is  bound  to  be  happy  with  heaps  of  money !  " 

And  keeping  her  teeth  still  well  exposed,  Lady  Larford 
glided  away,  her  skirts  exhaling  an  odour  of  civet-cat  as 
she  moved.  Mrs.  Sorrel  gazed  after  her  helplessly,  in  a 
state  of  worry  and  confusion,  for  she  instinctively  felt  that 
her  ladyship's  pleasure  would  now  be  to  tell  everybody 
whom  she  knew,  that  Lucy  Sorrel,  "  the  new  girl  who  was 
presented  at  Court  last  night,"  was  having  a  "  try  "  for  the 
Helmsley  millions ;  and  that  if  the  "  try  "  was  not  successful, 
no  one  living  would  launch  more  merciless  and  bitter  jests 
at  the  failure  and  defeat  of  the  Sorrels  than  this  same  titled 
"  leader  "  of  a  section  of  the  aristocratic  gambling  set.  For 
there  has  never  been  anything  born  under  the  sun  crueller 
than  a  twentieth-century  woman  of  fashion  to  her  own  sex — 
except  perhaps  a  starving  hyaena  tearing  asunder  its  living 
prey. 

Meanwhile,  David  Helmsley  and  his  young  companion 
had  reached  the  drawing-room,  which  they  found  quite  un- 
occupied. The  window-balcony,  festooned  with  rose-silk 
draperies  and  flowers,  and  sparkling  with  tiny  electric 
lamps,  offered  itself  as  an  inviting  retreat  for  a  quiet  chat, 
and  within  it  they  seated  themselves,  Helmsley  rather  wear- 
ily, and  Lucy  Sorrel  with  the  queenly  air  and  dainty  rustle 
of  soft  garments  habitual  to  the  movements  of  a  well-dressed 
woman. 

"  I  have  not  thanked  you  half  enough,"  she  began,  "  for 
all  the  delightful  things  you  have  done  for  my  birthday " 

"  Pray  spare  me ! "  he  interrupted,  with  a  deprecatory 
gesture — "  I  would  rather  you  said  nothing." 

"  Oh,  but  I  must  say  something !  "  she  went  on.  "  You 
are  so  generous  and  good  in  yourself  that  of  course  you 
cannot  bear  to  be  thanked — I  know  that — but  if  you  will 
persist  in  giving  so  much  pleasure  to  a  girl  who,  but  for 
you,  would  have  no  pleasure  at  all  in  her  life,  you  must  ex- 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        £3 

pect  that  girl  to  express  her  feelings  somehow.  Now, 
mustn't  you  ?  " 

She  leaned  forward,  smiling  at  him  with  an  arch  expres- 
sion of  sweetness  and  confidence.  He  looked  at  her  atten- 
tively, but  said  nothing. 

"  When  I  got  your  lovely  present  the  first  thing  this 
morning,"  she  continued,  "  I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes. 
Such  an  exquisite  necklace! — such  perfect  pearls!  Dear 
Mr.  Helmsley,  you  quite  spoil  me!  I'm  not  worth  all  the 
kind  thought  and  trouble  you  take  on  my  behalf." 

Tears  started  to  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  quivered.  Helmsley 
saw  her  emotion  with  only  a  very  slight  touch  of  concern. 
Her  tears  were  merely  sensitive,  he  thought,  welling  up 
from  a  young  and  grateful  heart,  and  as  the  prime  cause 
of  that  young  heart's  gratitude  he  delicately  forbore  to 
notice  them.  This  chivalrous  consideration  on  his  part 
caused  some  little  disappointment  to  the  shedder  of  the 
tears,  but  he  could  not  be  expected  to  know  that. 

"  I'm  glad  you  are  pleased  with  my  little  gift,"  he  said 
simply,  "  though  I'm  afraid  it  is  quite  a  conventional  and 
ordinary  one.  Pearls  and  girls  always  go  together,  in  fact 
as  in  rhyme.  After  all,  they  are  the  most  suitable  jewels 
for  the  young — for  they  are  emblems  of  everything  that 
youth  should  be — white  and  pure  and  innocent." 

Her  breath  came  and  went  quickly. 

"  Do  you  think  youth  is  always  like  that?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  always, — but  surely  most  often,"  he  answered. 
"  At  any  rate,  I  wish  to  believe  in  the  simplicity  and  good- 
ness of  all  young  things." 

She  was  silent.  Helmsley  studied  her  thoughtfully, — 
even  critically.  And  presently  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  as  a  child  she  had  been  much  prettier  than  she  now 
was  as  a  woman.  Yet  her  present  phase  of  loveliness  was  of 
the  loveliest  type.  No  fault  could  be  found  with  the  perfect 
oval  of  her  face,  her  delicate  white-rose  skin,  her  small 
seduttive  mouth,  curved  in  the  approved  line  of  the  "  Cupid's 
bow,"  her  deep,  soft,  bright  eyes,  fringed  with  long  lashes 
a  shade  darker  than  the  curling  waves  of  her  abundant 
brown  hair.  But  her  features  in  childhood  had  expressed 
something  more  than  the  beauty  which  had  developed  with 
the  passing  of  years.  A  sweet  affection,  a  tender  earnest- 
ness, and  an  almost  heavenly  candour  had  made  the  at- 
tractiveness of  her  earlier  age  quite  irresistible,  but  now — 


24        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

or  so  Helmsley  fancied — that  fine  and  subtle  charm  had 
gone.  He  was  half  ashamed  of  himself  for  allowing  this 
thought  to  enter  his  mind,  and  quickly  dismissing  it,  he 
said — 

"  How  did  your  presentation  go  off  last  night  ?  Was  it 
a  full  Court?" 

"  I  believe  so,"  she  replied  listlessly,  unfurling  a  painted 
fan  and  waving  it  idly  to  and  fro — "  I  cannot  say  that  I 
found  it  very  interesting.  The  whole  thing  bored  me 
dreadfully." 

He  smiled. 

"  Bored  you !    Is  it  possible  to  be  bored  at  twenty-one  ?  " 

"  I  think  every  one,  young  or  old,  is  bored  more  or  less 
nowadays,"  she  said.  "  Boredom  is  a  kind  of  microbe  in 
the  air.  Most  society  functions  are  deadly  dull.  And 
where's  the  fun  of  being  presented  at  Court?  If  a  woman 
wears  a  pretty  gown,  all  the  other  women  try  to  tread  on 
it  and  tear  it  off  her  back  if  they  can.  And  the  Royal 
people  only  speak  to  their  own  special  '  set,'  and  not  always 
the  best-looking  or  best-mannered  set  either." 

Helmsley  looked  amused. 

"  Well,  it's  what  is  called  an  entree  into  the  world," — he 
replied.  "  For  my  own  part,  I  have  never  been  '  presented,'' 
and  never  intend  to  be.  I  see  too  much  of  Royalty  privately, 
in  the  dens  of  finance." 

"  Yes — all  the  kings  and  princes  wanting  to  borrow 
money,"  she  said  quickly  and  flippantly.  "And  you  must 
despise  the  lot.  You  are  a  real  '  King,'  bigger  than  any 
crowned  head,  because  you  can  do  just  as  you  like,  and 
you  are  not  the  servant  of  Governments  or  peoples.  I  am 
sure  you  must  be  the  happiest  man  in  the  world !  " 

She  plucked  off  a  rose  from  a  flowering  rose-tree  near 
her,  and  began  to  wrench  out  its  petals  with  a  quick,  nervous 
movement.  Helmsley  watched  her  with  a  vague  sense  of 
annoyance. 

"  I  am  no  more  happy,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  than  that  rose 
you  are  picking  to  pieces,  though  it  has  never  done  you  any 
harm." 

She  started,  and  flushed, — then  laughed. 

"Oh,  the  poor  little  rose!"  she  exclaimed — "I'm  sorry! 
I've  had  so  many  roses  to-day,  that  I  don't  think  about 
them.  I  suppose  it's  wrong." 

"  It's  not  wrong,"  he  answered  quietly ;    "  it's  merely  the 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        £5 

fault  of  those  who  give  you  more  roses  than  you  know  how 
to  appreciate." 

She  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  but  could  not  fathom  his 
expression. 

"  Still,"  he  went  on,  "  I  would  not  have  your  life  deprived 
of  so  much  as  one  rose.  And  there  is  a  very  special  rose 
that  does  not  grow  in  earthly  gardens,  which  I  should  like 
you  to  find  and  wear  on  your  heart,  Lucy, — I  hope  I  shall 
see  you  in  the  happy  possession  of  it  before  I  die, — I  mean 
the  rose  of  love." 

She  lifted  her  head,  and  her  eyes  shone  coldly. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Helmsley,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  believe  in 
love!" 

A  flash  of  amazement,  almost  of  anger,  illumined  his  worn 
features. 

"  You  don't  believe  in  love !  "  he  echoed.  "  O  child,  what 
do  you  believe  in,  then  ?  " 

The  passion  of  his  tone  moved  her  to  a  surprised  smile. 

"  Well,  I  believe  in  being  happy  while  you  can,"  she  re- 
plied tranquilly.  "  And  love  isn't  happiness.  All  my  girl 
and  men  friends  who  are  what  they  call  '  in  love '  seem  to 
be  thoroughly  miserable.  Many  of  them  get  perfectly  ill 
with  jealousy,  and  they  never  seem  to  know  whether  what 
they  call  their  '  love '  will  last  from  one  day  to  another.  I 
shouldn't  care  to  live  at  such  a.  high  tension  of  nerves.  My 
own  mother  and  father  married  '  for  love,'  so  I  am  always 
told, — and  I'm  sure  a  more  quarrelsome  couple  never  ex- 
isted. I  believe  in  friendship  more  than  love." 

As  she  spoke,  Helmsley  looked  at  her  steadily,  his  face 
darkening  with  a  shadow  of  weary  scorn. 

"  I  see ! "  he  murmured  coldly.  "  You  do  not  care  to 
over-fatigue  the  heart's  action  by  unnecessary  emotion. 
Quite  right!  If  we  were  all  as  wise  as  you  are  at  your 
age,  we  might  live  much  longer  than  we  do.  You  are  very 
sensible,  Lucy! — more  sensible  than  I  should  have  thought 
possible  for  so  young  a  woman." 

She  gave  him  a  swift,  uneasy  glance.  She  was  not  quite 
sure  of  his  mood. 

"  Friendship,"  he  continued,  speaking  in  a  slow,  medi- 
tative tone,  "  is  a  good  thing, — it  may  be,  as  you  suggest, 
safer  and  sweeter  than  love.  But  even  friendship,  to  be 
worthy  of  its  name,  must  be  quite  unselfish, — and  unselfish- 
ness, in  both  love  and  friendship,  is  rare." 


26        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Very,  very  rare  !  "  she  sighed. 

"  You  will  be  thinking  of  marriage  some  day,  if  you  are 
not  thinking  of  it  now,"  he  went  on.  "  Would  a  husband's 
friendship — friendship  and  no  more — satisfy  you  ?  " 

She  gazed  at  him  candidly. 

"  I  am  sure  it  would !  "  she  said ;  "  I'm  not  the  least  bit 
sentimental." 

He  regarded  her  with  a  grave  and  musing  steadfastness. 
A  very  close  observer  might  have  seen  a  line  of  grim 
satire  near  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  a  gleam  of  irritable 
impatience  in  his  sunken  eyes ;  but  these  signs  of  inward 
feeling  were  not  apparent  to  the  girl,  who,  more  than 
usually  satisfied  with  herself  and  over-conscious  of  her 
own  beauty,  considered  that  she  was  saying  just  the  very 
thing  that  he  would  expect  and  like  her  to  say. 

"  You  do  not  crave  for  love,  then  ?  "  he  queried.  "  You 
do  not  wish  to  know  anything  of  the  '  divine  rapture  falling 
out  of  heaven/ — the  rapture  that  has  inspired  all  the  artists 
and  poets  in  the  world,  and  that  has  probably  had  the  largest 
share  in  making  the  world's  history  ?  " 

She  gave  a  little  shrug  of  amused  disdain. 

"  Raptures  never  last !  "  and  she  laughed.  "  And  artists 
and  poets  are  dreadful  people!  I've  seen  a  few  of  them, 
and  don't  want  to  see  them  any  more.  They  are  always  very 
untidy,  and  they  have  the  most  absurd  ideas  of  their  own 
abilities.  You  can't  have  them  in  society,  you  know! — 
you  simply  can't!  If  I  had  a  house  of  my  own  I  would 
never  have  a  poet  inside  it." 

The  grim  lines  round  Helmsley's  mouth  hardened,  and 
made  him  look  almost  cruelly  saturnine.  Yet  he  murmured 
under  his  breath : — 

" '  All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 

Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame; 
Are  but  the  ministers  of  Love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame ! ' ' 

"  What's  that?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  Poetry !  "  he  answered,  "  by  a  man  named  Coleridge. 
He  is  dead  now.  He  used  to  take  opium,  and  he  did  not 
understand  business  matters.  He  was  never  rich  in  anything 
but  thoughts." 

She  smiled  brilliantly. 

"  How  silly  !  "  she  said. 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        27 

"  Yes,  he  was  very  silly,"  agreed  Helmsley,  watching-  her 
narrowly  from  under  his  half-closed  eyelids.  "  But  most 
thinkers  are  silly,  even  when  they  don't  take  opium.  They 
believe  in  Love." 

She  coloured.  She  caught  the  sarcastic  inflection  in  his 
tone.  But  she  was  silent. 

"  Most  men  who  have  lived  and  worked  and  suffered," 
he  went  on,  "  come  to  know  before  they  die  that  without 
a  great  and  true  love  in  their  lives,  their  work  is  wasted, 
and  their  sufferings  are  in  vain.  But  there  are  exceptions, 
of  course.  Some  get  on  very  well  without  love  at  all,  and 
perhaps  these  are  the  most  fortunate." 

"  I  am  sure  they  are !  "  she  said  decisively. 

He  picked  up  two  or  three  of  the  rose-petals  her  restless 
fingers  had  scattered,  and  laying  them  in  his  palm  looked 
at  the  curved,  pink,  shell-like  shapes  abstractedly. 

"  Well,  they  are  saved  a  good  deal  of  trouble,"  he  an- 
swered quietly.  "  They  spare  themselves  many  a  healing 
heart-ache  and  many  purifying  tears.  But  when  they  grow 
old,  and  when  they  find  that,  after  all,  the  happiest  folks 
in  the  world  are  still  those  who  love,  or  who  have  loved 
and  have  been  loved,  even  though  the  loved  ones  are  per- 
haps no  longer  here,  they  may — I  do  not  say  they  will — 
possibly  regret  that  they  never  experienced  that  marvellous 
sense  of  absorption  into  another's  life  of  which  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing writes  in  her  letters  to  her  husband.  Do  you  know 
what  she  says  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't!  "  and  she  smothered  a  slight  yawn 
as  she  spoke.  He  fixed  his  eyes  intently  upon  her. 

"  She  tells  her  lover  her  feeling  in  these  words:  'There 
is  nothing  in  you  that  does  not  draw  all  out  of  me.' 
That  is  the  true  emotion  of  love, — the  one  soul  must  draw 
all  out  of  the  other,  and  the  best  of  all  in  each." 

"  But  the  Brownings  were  a  very  funny  couple,"  and  the 
fair  Lucy  arched  her  graceful  throat  and  settled  more 
becomingly  in  its  place  a  straying  curl  of  her  glossy  brown 
hair.  "  I  know  an  old  gentleman  who  used  to  see  them 
together  when  they  lived  in  Florence,  and  he  says  they  were 
so  queer-looking  that  people  used  to  laugh  at  them.  It's 
all  very  well  to  love  and  to  be  in  love,  but  if  you  look  odd 
and  people  laugh  at  you,  what's  the  good  of  it?  " 

Helmsley  rose  from  his  seat  abruptly. 

"  True !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  You're  right,  Lucy  !     Little 


28        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

girl,  you're  quite  right!  What's  the  good  of  it!  Upon 
my  word,  you're  a  most  practical  woman! — you'll  make 
a  capital  wife  for  a  business  man !  "  Then  as  the  gay 
music  of  the  band  below-stairs  suddenly  ceased,  to  give  place 
to  the  noise  of  chattering  voices  and  murmurs  of  laughter, 
he  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"  Supper-time !  "  he  said.  "  Let  me  take  you  down.  And 
after  supper,  will  you  give  me  ten  minutes'  chat  with  you 
alone  in  the  library ! " 

She  looked  up  eagerly,  with  a  flush  of  pink  in  her  cheeks. 

"  Of  course  I  will !    With  pleasure !  " 

"  Thank  you ! "  And  he  drew  her  white-gloved  hand 
through  his  arm.  "  I  am  leaving  town  next  week,  and  I 
have  something  important  to  say  to  you  before  I  go.  You 
will  allow  me  to  say  it  privately  ?  " 

She  smiled  assent,  and  leaned  on  his  arm  with  a  light, 
confiding  pressure,  to  which  he  no  more  responded  than 
if  his  muscles  had  been  rigid  iron.  Her  heart  beat  quickly 
with  a  sense  of  gratified  vanity  and  exultant  expectancy, — 
but  his  throbbed  slowly  and  heavily,  chilled  by  the  double 
frost  of  age  and  solitude. 


CHAPTER     III 

To  see  people  eating  is  understood  to  be  a  very  interesting 
and  "brilliant"  spectacle,  and  however  insignificant  you 
may  be  in  the  social  world,  you  get  a  reflex  of  its  "  bril- 
liancy "  when  you  allow  people  in  their  turn  to  see  you 
eating  likewise.  A  well-cooked,  well-served  supper  is  a 
"  function,"  in  which  every  man  and  woman  who  can  move 
a  jaw  takes  part,  and  though  in  plain  parlance  there  is 
nothing  uglier  than  the  act  of  putting  food  into  one's  mouth, 
we  have  persuaded  ourselves  that  it  is  a  pretty  and  pleasant 
performance  enough  for  us  to  ask  our  friends  to  see  us 
do  it.  Byron's  idea  that  human  beings  should  eat  privately 
and  apart,  was  not  altogether  without  aesthetic  justification, 
though  according  to  medical  authority  such  a  procedure 
would  be  very  injurious  to  health.  The  slow  mastication 
of  a  meal  in  the  presence  of  cheerful  company  is  said  to 
promote  healthy  digestion — moreover,  custom  and  habit 
make  even  the  most  incongruous  things  acceptable,  there- 
fore the  display  of  tables,  crowded  with  food-stuffs  and 
surrounded  by  eating,  drinking,  chattering  and  perspiring 
men  and  women,  does  not  affect  us  to  any  sense  of  the 
ridiculous  or  the  unseemly.  On  the  contrary,  when  some 
of  us  see  such  tables,  we  exclaim  "  How  lovely !  "  or  "  How 
delightful ! "  according  to  our  own  pet  vocabulary,  or  to 
our  knowledge  of  the  humour  of  our  host  or  hostess, — or 
perhaps,  if  we  are  young  cynics,  tired  of  life  before  we 
have  confronted  one  of  its  problems,  we  murmur,  "  Not 
so  bad !  "  or  "  Fairly  decent ! "  when  we  are  introduced  to 
the  costly  and  appetising  delicacies  heaped  up  round  masses 
of  flowers  and  silver  for  our  consideration  and  entertain- 
ment. At  the  supper  given  by  David  Helmsley  for  Lucy 
Sorrel's  twenty-first  birthday,  there  was,  however,  no  note 
of  dissatisfaction — the  blase  breath  of  the  callow  'critic 
emitted  no  withering  blight,  and  even  latter-day  satirists 
in  their  teens,  frosted  like  tender  pease-blossom  before  their 
prime,  condescended  to  approve  the  lavish  generosity,  com- 
bined with  the  perfect  taste,  which  made  the  festive  scene 
a  glowing  picture  of  luxury  and  elegance.  But  Helmsley 

29 


SO        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

himself,  as  he  led  his  beautiful  partner,  "  the  "  guest  of 
the  evening,  to  the  head  of  the  principal  table,  and  took  his 
place  beside  her,  was  conscious  of  no  personal  pleasure, 
but  only  of  a  dreary  feeling  which  seemed  lonelier  than 
loneliness  and  more  sorrowful  than  sorrow.  The  wearied 
scorn  that  he  had  lately  begun  to  entertain  for  himself, 
his  wealth,  his  business,  his  influence,  and  all  his  surround- 
ings, was  embittered  by  a  disappointment  none  the  less 
keen  because  he  had  dimly  foreseen  it.  The  child  he  had 
petted,  the  girl  he  had  indulged  after  the  fashion  of  a  father 
who  seeks  to  make  the  world  pleasant  to  a  young  life  just 
entering  it,  she,  even  she,  was,  or  seemed  to  be,  practically 
as  selfish  as  any  experienced  member  of  the  particular  set 
of  schemers  and  intriguers  who  compose  what  is  sometimes 
called  "society  "  in  the  present  day.  He  had  no  wish  to 
judge  her  harshly,  but  he  was  too  old  and  knew  too  much 
of  life  to  be  easily  deceived  in  his  estimation  of  character. 
A  very  slight  hint  was  sufficient  for  him.  He  had  seen  a 
great  deal  of  Lucy  Sorrel  as  a  child — she  had  always  been 
known  as  his  "  little  favourite  " — but  since  she  had  attended 
a  fashionable  school  at  Brighton,  his  visits  to  her  home  had 
been  less  frequent,  and  he  had  had  very  few  opportunities 
of  becoming  acquainted  with  the  gradual  development  of 
her  mental  and  moral  self.  During  her  holidays  he  had 
given  her  as  many  little  social  pleasures  and  gaieties  as  he 
had  considered  might  be  acceptable  to  her  taste  and  age, 
but  on  these  occasions  other  persons  had  always  been  pres- 
sent,  and  Lucy  herself  had  worn  what  are  called  "  company  " 
manners,  which  in  her  case  were  singularly  charming  and 
attractive,  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  it  would  have  seemed 
like  heresy  to  question  their  sincerity.  But  now — whether 
it  was  the  slight  hint  dropped  by  Sir  Francis  Vesey  on  the 
previous  night  as  to  Mrs.  Sorrel's  match-making  proclivities, 
or  whether  it  was  a  scarcely  perceptible  suggestion  of  some- 
thing more  flippant  and  assertive  than  usual  in  the  air  and 
"bearing  of  Lucy  herself  that  had  awakened  his  suspicions, — 
he  was  certainly  disposed  to  doubt,  for  the  first  time  in  all 
his  knowledge  of  her,  the  candid  nature  of  the  girl  for 
whom  he  had  hitherto  entertained,  half-unconsciously,  an 
almost  parental  affection.  He  sat  by  her  side  at  supper, 
seldom  speaking,  but  always  closely  observant.  He  saw 
everything ;  he  watched  the  bright,  exulting  flash  of  her  eyes 
as  she  glanced  at  her  various  friends,  both  near  her  and  at  a 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        31* 

distance,  and  he  fancied  he  detected  in  their  responsive  looks 
a  subtle  inquiry  and  meaning  which  he  would  not  allow  him- 
self to  investigate.  And  while  the  bubbling  talk  and  laughter 
eddied  round  him,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  combat  the  lurk- 
ing distrust  that  teased  his  brain,  and  either  to  disperse  it 
altogether  or  else  confirm  it  beyond  all  mere  shadowy  mis- 
giving. Some  such  thought  as  this  had  occurred  to  him, 
albeit  vaguely,  when  he  had,  on  a  sudden  unpremeditated 
impulse,  asked  Lucy  to  give  him  a  few  minutes'  private 
conversation  with  her  after  supper,  but  now,  what  had  pre- 
viously -been  a  mere  idea  formulated  itself  into  a  fixed 
resolve. 

"  For  what,  after  all,  does  it  matter  to  me  ?  "  he  mused. 
"  Why  should  I  hesitate  to  destroy  a  dream  ?  Why  should 
I  care  if  another  rainbow  bubble  of  life  breaks  and  disap- 
pears? I  am  too  old  to  have  ideals — so  most  people  would 
tell  me.  And  yet — with  the  grave  open  and  ready  to 
receive  me, — I  still  believe  that  love  and  truth  and  purity 
surely  exist  in  women's  hearts — if  one  could  only  know 
just  where  to  find  the  women !  " 

"  Dear  King  David !  "  murmured  a  cooing  voice  at  his 
ear.  "  Won't  you  drink  my  health  ?  " 

He  started  as  from  a  reverie.  Lucy  Sorrel  was  bending 
towards  him,  her  face  glowing  with  gratified  vanity  and 
self-elation. 

"  Of  course !  "  he  answered,  and  rising  to  his  feet,  he 
lifted  his  glass  full  of  as  yet  untasted  champagne,  at  which 
action  on  his  part  the  murmur  of  voices  suddenly  ceased 
and  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  him.  "  Ladies  and  gentle- 
men," he  said,  in  his  soft,  tired  voice, — "  I  beg  to  propose 
the  health  of  Miss  Lucy  Sorrel !  She  has  lived  twenty-one 
years  on  this  interesting  old  planet  of  ours,  and  has  found 
it,  so  far,  not  altogether  without  charm.  I  have  had  seventy 
years  of  it,  and  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you  all,  I  am 
able  to  keep  a  few  of  the  illusions  and  delusions  I  had  when 
I  was  even  younger  than  our  charming  guest  of  the  evening. 
I  still  believe  in  good  women !  I  think  I  have  one  sitting 
at  my  right  hand  to-night.  L  take  for  granted  that  her 
nature  is  as  fair  as  her  face  ;  and  I  hope  that  every  recurring 
anniversary  of  this  day  may  bring  her  just  as  much  happi- 
ness as  she  deserves.  I  ask  you  to  drink  to  her  health, 
wealth,  and  prosperity ;  and — may  she  soon  find  a  good 
husband !  " 


S2        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Applause  and  laughter  followed  this  conventional  little 
speech,  and  the  toast  was  honoured  in  the  usual  way,  Lucy 
bowing  and  smiling  her  thanks  to  all  present.  And  then 
there  ensued  one  of  those  strange  impressions — one  might 
almost  call  them  telepathic  instead  of  atmospheric  effects 
— which,  subtly  penetrating  the  air,  exerted  an  inexplicable 
influence  on  the  mind ; — the  expectancy  of  some  word  never 
to  be  uttered, — the  waiting  for  some  incident  never  to  take 
place.  People  murmured  and  smiled,  and  looked  and 
laughed,  but  there  was  an  evident  embarrassment  among 
them, — an  under-sense  of  something  like  disappointment. 
The  fortunately  commonplace  and  methodical  habits  of 
waiters,  whose  one  idea  is  to  keep  their  patrons  busy  eating 
and  drinking,  gradually  overcame  this  insidious  restraint, 
and  the  supper  went  on  gaily  till  at  one  o'clock  the  Hun- 
garian band  again  began  to  play,  and  all  the  young  people, 
eager  for  their  "  extras "  in  the  way  of  dances,  quickly 
rose  from  the  various  tables  and  began  to  crowd  out  towards 
the  ballroom.  In  the  general  dispersal,  Lucy  having  left 
him  for  a  partner  to  whom  she  had  promised  the  first 
"  extra,"  Helmsley  stopped  to  speak  to  one  or  two  men  well 
known  to  him  in  the  business  world.  He  was  still  convers- 
ing with  these  when  Mrs.  Sorrel,  not  perceiving  him  in 
the  corner  where  he  stood  apart  with  his  friend,  trotted 
past  him  with  an  agitated  step  and  flushed  countenance, 
and  catching  her  daughter  by  the  skirt  of  her  dress  as  that 
young  lady  moved  on  with  the  pushing  throng  in  front  of 
her,  held  her  back  for  a  second. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  she  demanded  querulously,  in 
not  too  soft  a  tone.  "  Were  you  careful  ?  Did  you  manage 
him  properly  ?  What  did  he  say  to  you  ?  " 

Lucy's  beautiful  face  hardened,  and  her  lips  met  in  a 
thin,  decidedly  bad-tempered  line. 

"  He  said  nothing  to  the  purpose,"  she  replied  coldly. 
"  There  was  no  time.  But " — and  she  lowered  her  voice — 
"  he  wants  to  speak  to  me  alone  presently.  I'm  going  to 
him  in  the  library  after  this  dance." 

She  passed  on,  and  Mrs.  Sorrel,  heaving  a  deep  sigh, 
drew  out  a  black  pocket-fan  and  fanned  herself  vigorously. 
Wreathing  her  face  with  social  smiles,  she  made  her  way 
slowly  out  of  the  supper-room,  happily  unaware  that  Helms- 
ley  had  been  near  enough  to  hear  every  word  that  had 
passed.  And  hearing,  he  had  understood;  but  he  went  on 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        33 

talking  to  his  friends  in  the  quiet,  rather  slow  way  which 
was  habitual  to  him,  and  when  he  left  them  there  was  noth- 
ing about  him  to  indicate  that  he  was  in  a  suppressed  state 
of  nervous  excitement  which  made  him  for  the  moment 
quite  forget  that  he  was  an  old  man.  Impetuous  youth  itself 
never  felt  a  keener  blaze  of  vitality  in  the  veins  than  he  did 
at  that  moment,  but  it  was  the  withering  heat  of  indignation 
that  warmed  him — not  the  tender  glow  of  love.  The  clarion 
sweetness  of  the  dance-music,  now  pealing  loudly  on  the 
air,  irritated  his  nerves, — the  lights,  the  flowers,  the  bril- 
liancy of  the  whole  scene  jarred  upon  his  soul, — what  was 
it  all  but  sham,  he  thought! — a  show  in  the  mere  name  of 
friendship! — an  ephemeral  rose  of  pleasure  with  a  worm 
at  its  core !  Impatiently  he  shook  himself  free  of  those  who 
sought  to  detain  him  and  went  at  once  to  his  library, — a 
sombre,  darkly-furnished  apartment,  large  enough  to  seem 
gloomy  by  contrast  with  the  gaiety  and  cheerfulness  which 
were  dominant  throughout  the  rest  of  the  house  that  even- 
ing. Only  two  or  three  shaded  lamps  were  lit,  and  these 
cast  a  ghostly  flicker  on  the  row  of  books  that  lined  the 
walls.  A  few  names  in  raised  letters  of  gold  relief  upon 
the  backs  of  some  of  the  volumes,  asserted  themselves,  or 
so  he  fancied,  with  unaccustomed  prominence.  "  Mon- 
taigne," "  Seneca,"  "  Rochefoucauld,"  "  Goethe,"  "  Byron," 
and  "  The  Sonnets  of  William  Shakespeare,"  stood  forth 
from  the  surrounding  darkness  as  though  demanding  special 
notice. 

"  Voices  of  the  dead !  "  he  murmured  half  aloud.  "  I 
should  have  learned  wisdom  from  you  all  long  ago !  What 
have  the  great  geniuses  of  the  world  lived  for?  For  what 
purpose  did  they  use  their  brains  and  pens?  Simply  to 
teach  mankind  the  folly  of  too  much  faith !  Yet  we  continue 
to  delude  ourselves — and  the  worst  of  it  is  that  we  do  it 
wilfully  and  knowingly.  We  are  perfectly  aware  that  when 
we  trust,  we  shall  be  deceived — yet  we  trust  on!  Even  I 
— old  and  frail  and  about  to  die — cannot  rid  myself  of  a 
belief  in  God,  and  in  the  ultimate  happiness  of  each  man's 
destiny.  And  yet,  so  far  as  my  own  experience  serves  me, 
I  have  nothing  to  go  upon — absolutely  nothing !  " 

He  gave  an  unconscious  gesture — half  of  scorn,  half  of 
despair — and  paced  the  room  slowly  up  and  down.  A  life 
of  toil — a  life  rounding  into  worldly  success,  but  blank  of 
all  love  and  heart's  comfort — was  this  to  be  the  only  con- 


34        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

elusion  to  his  career?  Of  what  use,  then,  was  it  to  have 
lived  at  all  ? 

"  People  talk  foolishly  of  a  '  declining  birth-rate,'  "  he 
went  on ;  "  yet  if,  according  to  the  modern  scientist,  all 
civilisations  are  only  so  much  output  of  wasted  human 
energy,  doomed  to  pass  into  utter  oblivion,  and  human  be- 
ings only  live  but  to  die  and  there  an  end,  of  what  avail 
is  it  to  be  born  at  all?  Surely  it  is  but  wanton  cruelty  to 
take  upon  ourselves  the  responsibility  of  continuing  a  race 
whose  only  consummation  is  rottenness  in  unremembered 
graves !  " 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Lucy  Sorrel  entered 
softly,  with  a  pretty  air  of  hesitating  timidity  which  became 
her  style  of  beauty  excellently  well.  As  he  looked  up  and 
saw  her  standing  half  shyly  on  the  thresold,  a  white,  light, 
radiant  figure  expressing  exquisitely  fresh  youth,  grace  and 
— innocence  ? — yes !  surely  that  wondrous  charm  which 
hung  about  her  like  a  delicate  atmosphere  redolent  with 
the  perfume  of  spring,  could  only  be  the  mystic  ex- 
halation of  a  pure  mind  adding  spiritual  lustre  to  the  ma- 
terial attraction  of  a  perfect  body, — his  heart  misgave  him. 
Already  he  was  full  of  remorse  lest  so  much  as  a  passing 
thought  in  his  brain  might  have  done  her  unmerited  wrong. 
He  advanced  to  meet  her,  and  his  voice  was  full  of  kindness 
as  he  said  : — 

"  Is  your  dance  quite  over,  Lucy  ?  Are  you  sure  I  am 
not  selfishly  depriving  you  of  pleasure  by  asking  you  to 
come  away  from  all  your  young  friends  just  to  talk  to  me 
for  a  few  minutes  in  this  dull  room  ?  " 

She  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  confidingly. 

"Dear  Mr.  Helmsley,  there  can  be  no  greater  pleasure 
for  me  than  to  talk  to  you !  "  she  answered  sweetly. 

His  expression  changed  and  hardened.  "  That's  not  true," 
he  thought ;  "  and  she  knows  it,  and  /  know  it."  Aloud 
he  said :  "  Very  prettily  spoken,  Lucy !  But  I  am  aware  of 
my  own  tediousness  and  I  won't  detain  you  long.  Will 
you  sit  down  ? "  and  he  offered  her  an  easy-chair,  into 
which  she  sank  with  the  soft  slow  grace  of  a  nestling 
bird.  "  I  only  want  to  say  just  a  few  words, — such  as  your 
father  might  say  to  you  if  he  were  so  inclined — about  your 
future." 

She  gave  him  a  swift  glance  of  keen  inquiry. 

"  My  future  ?  "  she  echoed. 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        35 

"  Yes.    Have  you  thought  of  it  at  all  yourself  ?  " 

She  heaved  a  little  sigh,  smiled,  and  shook  her  head  in 
the  negative. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  very  silly,"  she  confessed  plaintively. 
"I  never  think!" 

He  drew  up  another  armchair  and  sat  down  opposite  to 
her. 

"  Well,  try  to  do  so  now  for  five  minutes  at  least,"  he 
said,  gently.  "  I  am  going  away  to-morrow  or  next  day  for 
a  considerable  time " 

A  quick  flush  flew  over  her  face. 

"  Going  away !  "  she  exclaimed.     "  But — not  far  ?  " 

"  That  depends  on  my  own  whim,"  he  replied,  watching 
her  attentively.  "  I  shall  certainly  be  absent  from  England 
for  a  year,  perhaps  longer.  But,  Lucy, — you  were  such 
a  little  pet  of  mine  in  your  childhood  that  I  cannot  help 
taking  an  interest  in  you  now  you  are  grown  up.  That  is, 
I  think,  quite  natural.  And  I  should  like  to  feel  that  you 
have  some  good  and  safe  idea  of  your  own  happiness  in 
life  before  I  leave  you." 

She  stared, — her  face  fell. 

"  I  have  no  ideas  at  all,"  she  answered  after  a  pause,  the 
corners  of  her  red  mouth  drooping  in  petulant,  spoilt-child 
fashion,  "  and  if  you  go  away  I  shall  have  no  pleasures 
either!" 

He  smiled. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  take  it  that  way,"  he  said.  "  But  I'm 
nearing  the  end  of  my  tether,  Lucy,  and  increasing  age 
makes  me  restless.  I  want  change  of  scene — and  change 
of  surroundings.  I  am  thoroughly  tired  of  my  present 
condition." 

"  Tired  ? "  and  her  eyes  expressed  whole  volumes  of 
amazement  "  Not  really  ?  You — tired  of  your  present 
condition?  With  all  your  money?  " 

"  With  all  my  money !  "  he  answered  drily,  "  Money 
is  not  the  elixir  of  happiness,  Lucy,  though  many  people 
seem  to  think  it  is.  But  I  prefer  not  to  talk  about  myself. 
Let  me  speak  of  you.  What  do  you  propose  to  do  with 
your  life  ?  You  will  marry,  of  course  ?  " 

"  I — I  suppose  so,"  she  faltered. 

"Is  there  any  one  you  specially  favour? — any  young 
fellow  who  loves  you,  or  whom  you  are  inclined  to  love 
— and  who  wants  a  start  in  the  world?  If  there  is,  send 


S6     -  THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

him  to  me,  and,  if  he  has  anything  in  him,  I'll  make  myself 
answerable  for  his  prosperity." 

She  looked  up  with  a  cold,  bright  steadfastness. 

"  There  is  no  one,"  she  said.  "  Dear  Mr.  Helmsley,  you 
are  very  good,  but  I  assure  you  I  have  never  fallen  in  love 
in  my  life.  As  I  told  you  before  supper,  I  don't  believe  in 
that  kind  of  nonsense.  And  I — I  want  nothing.  Of  course 
I  know  my  father,  and  mother  are  poor,  and  that  they 
have  kept  up  a  sort  of  position  which  ranks  them  among 
the  '  shabby  genteel,' — and  I  suppose  if  I  don't  marry  quickly 
I  shall  have  to  do  something  for  a  living " 

She  broke  off,  embarrassed  by  the  keenness  of  the  gaze 
he  fixed  upon  her. 

"  Many  good,  many  beautiful,  many  delicate  women  '  do 
something,'  as  you  put  it,  for  a  living,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  But  the  fight  is  always  fierce,  and  the  end  is  sometimes 
bitter.  It  is  better  for  a  woman  that  she  should  be  safe- 
guarded by  a  husband's  care  and  tenderness  than  that  she 
should  attempt  to  face  the  world  alone." 

A  flashing  smile  dimpled  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  she  retorted  play- 
fully. "  But  if  no  husband  come  forward,  then  it  cannot 
be  helped !  " 

He  rose,  and,  pushing  away  his  chair,  walked  up  and 
down  in  silence. 

She  watched  him  with  a  sense  of  growing  irritability,  and 
her  heart  beat  with  uncomfortable  quickness.  Why  did 
he  seem  to  hesitate  so  long?  Presently  he  stopped  in  his 
slow  movement  to  and  fro,  and  stood  looking  down  upon 
her  with  a  fixed  intensity  which  vaguely  troubled  her. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  advise,"  he  said,  "  and  it  is  still  more 
difficult  to  control.  In  your  case  I  have  no  right  to  do 
either.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  you  are  a  very  young  woman. 
You  are  beginning  your  life, — I  am  ending  mine.  Yet, 
young  as  you  are,  you  say  with  apparent  sincerity  that 
you  do  not  believe  in  love.  Now  I,  though  I  have  loved  and 
lost,  though  I  have  loved  and  have  been  cruelly  deceived 
in  love,  still  believe  that  if  the  true,  heavenly  passion  be 
fully  and  faithfully  experienced,  it  must  prove  the  chief 
joy,  if  not  the  only  one,  of  life.  You  think  otherwise,  and 
perhaps  you  correctly  express  ttie  opinion  of  the  younger 
generation  of  men  and  women.  These  appear  to  crowd  more 
emotion  and  excitement  into  their  lives  than  ever  was  at- 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        37 

tained  or  attainable  in  the  lives  of  their  forefathers,  but  they 
do  not,  or  so  it  seems  to  me,  secure  for  themselves  as  much 
peace  of  mind  and  satisfaction  of  soul  as  were  the  inheritance 
of  bygone  folk  whom  we  now  call  '  old-fashioned.'  Still, 
you  may  be  right  in  depreciating  the  power  of  love — from 
your  point  of  view.  All  the  same,  I  should  be  sorry  to  see 
you  entering  into  a  loveless  marriage." 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent,  then  she  suddenly  plunged 
into  speech. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Helmsley,  do  you  really  think  all  the  silly 
sentiment  talked  and  written  about  love  is  any  good  in 
marriage?  We  know  so  much  nowadays, — and  the  disillu- 
sion of  matrimony  is  so  very  complete !  One  has  only  to 
read  the  divorce  cases  in  the  newspapers  to  see  what  mis- 
takes people  make " 

He  winced  as  though  he  had  been  stung. 

"  Do  you  read  the  divorce  cases,  Lucy  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You 
— a  mere  girl  like  you  ?  " 

She  looked  surprised  at  the  regret  and  pain  in  his  tone. 

"  Why,  of  course !  One  must  read  the  papers  to  keep 
up  with  all  the  things  that  are  going  on.  And  the  divorce 
cases  have  always  such  startling  headings, — in  such  big 
print ! — one  is  obliged  to  read  them — positively  obliged !  " 

She  laughed  carelessly,  and  settled  herself  more  cosily 
in  her  chair. 

"  You  nearly  always  find  that  it  is  the  people  who  were 
desperately  in  love  with  each  other  before  marriage  who 
behave  disgracefully  and  are  perfectly  sick  of  each  other 
afterwards,"  she  went  on.  "  They  wanted  perpetual  poetry 
and  moonlight,  and  of  course  they  find  they  can't  have  it. 
Now,  I  don't  want  poetry  or  moonlight, — I  hate  both! 
Poetry  makes  me  sleepy,  and  moonlight  gives  me  neuralgia. 
I  should  like  a  husband  who  would  be  a  friend  to  me — a 
real  kind  friend ! — some  one  who  would  be  able  to  take  care 
of  me,  and  be  nice  to  me  always — some  one  much  older 
than  myself,  who  was  wise  and  strong  and  clever " 

"  And  rich,"  said  Helmsley  quietly.  "  Don't  forget  that ! 
Very  rich ! " 

She  glanced  at  him  furtively,  conscious  of  a  slight  nervous 
qualm.  Then,  rapidly  reviewing  the  situation  in  her  shallow 
brain,  she  accepted  his  remark  smilingly. 

"  Oh,  well,  of  course !  "  she  said.  "  It's  not  pleasant  to  live 
without  plenty  of  money." 


S8        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

He  turned  from  her  abruptly,  and  resumed  his  leisurely 
walk  to  and  fro,  much  to  her  inward  vexation.  He  was 
becoming  fidgety,  she  decided, — old  people  were  really  very 
trying!  Suddenly,  with  the  air  of  a  man  arriving  at  an 
important  decision,  he  sat  down  again  in  the  armchair  oppo- 
site her  own,  and  leaning  indolently  back  against  the  cushion, 
surveyed  her  with  a  calm,  critical,  entirely  businesslike 
manner,  much  as  he  would  have  looked  at  a  Jew  com- 
pany-promoter, who  sought  his  aid  to  float  a  "  bogus " 
scheme. 

"  It's  not  pleasant  to  live  without  plenty  of  money,  you 
think,"  he  said,  repeating  her  last  words  slowly.  "  Well ! 
The  pleasantest  time  of  my  life  was  when  I  did  not  own  a 
penny  in  the  bank,  and  when  I  had  to  be  very  sharp  in 
order  to  earn  enough  for  my  day's  dinner.  There  was  a 
zest,  a  delight,  a  fine  glory  in  the  mere  effort  to  live  that 
brought  out  the  strength  of  every  quality  I  possessed.  I 
learned  to  know  myself,  which  is  a  farther  reaching  wisdom 
than  is  found  in  knowing  others.  I  had  ideals  then, — and 
— old  as  I  am,  I  have  them  still." 

He  paused.  She  was  silent.  Her  eyes  were  lowered,  and 
she  played  idly  with  her  painted  fan. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  would  surprise  you,"  he  went  on,  "  to 
know  that  I  have  made  an  ideal  of  you?" 

She  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"  Really  ?  Have  you  ?  I'm  afraid  I  shall  prove  a  dis- 
appointment !  " 

He  did  not  answer  by  the  obvious  compliment  which  she 
felt  she  had  a  right  to  expect.  He  kept  his  gaze  fixed 
steadily  on  her  face,  and  his  shaggy  eyebrows  almost  met 
in  the  deep  hollow  which  painful  thought  had  ploughed 
along  his  forehead. 

"  I  have  made,"  he  said,  "  an  ideal  in  my  mind  of  the 
little  child  who  sat  on  my  knee,  played  with  my  watch- 
chain  and  laughed  at  me  when  I  called  her  my  little  sweet- 
heart. She  was  perfectly  candid  in  her  laughter, — she  knew 
it  was  absurd  for  an  old  man  to  have  a  child  as  his  sweet- 
heart. I  loved  to  hear  her  laugh  so, — because  she  was 
true  to  herself,  and  to  her  right  and  natural  instincts.  She 
was  the  prettiest  and  sweetest  child  I  ever  saw, — full  of 
innocent  dreams  and  harmless  gaiety.  She  began  to  grow 
up,  and  I  saw  less  and  less  of  her,  till  gradually  I  lost 
the  child  and  found  the  woman.  But  I  believe  in  the 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        39 

child's  heart  still — I  think  that  the  truth  and  simplicity 
of  the  child's  soul  are  still  in  the  womanly  nature, — and 
in  that  way,  Lucy,  I  yet  hold  you  as  an  ideal." 

Her  breath  quickened  a  little. 

"  You  think  too  kindly  of  me,"  she  murmured,  furling 
and  unfurling  her  fan  slowly ;  "  I'm  not  at  all  clever." 

He  gave  a  slight  deprecatory  gesture. 

"  Cleverness  is  not  what  I  expect  or  have  ever  expected 
of  you,"  he  said.  "  You  have  not  as  yet  had  to  endure 
the  misrepresentation  and  wrong  which  frequently  make 
women  clever, — the  life  of  solitude  and  despised  dreams 
which  moves  a  woman  to  put  on  man's  armour  and  sally 
forth  to  fight  the  world  and  conquer  it,  or  else  die  in  the 
attempt.  How  few  conquer,  and  how  many  die,  are  mat- 
ters of  history.  Be  glad  you  are  not  a  clever  woman, 
Lucy! — for  genius  in  a  woman  is  the  mystic  laurel  of 
Apollo  springing  from  the  soft  breast  of  Daphne.  It  hurts 
in  the  growing,  and  sometimes  breaks  the  heart  from  which 
it  grows." 

She  answered  nothing.  He  was  talking  in  a  way  she  did 
not  understand, — his  allusion  to  Apollo  and  Daphne  was 
completely  beyond  her.  She  smothered  a  tiny  yawn  and 
wondered  why  he  was  so  tedious.  Moreover,  she  was  con- 
scious of  some  slight  chagrin,  for  though  she  said,  out  of 
mere  social  hypocrisy,  that  she  was  not  clever,  she  thought 
herself  exceptionally  so.  Why  could  he  not  admit  her  abili- 
ties as  readily  as  she  herself  admitted  them? 

"  No,  you  are  not  clever,"  he  resumed  quietly.  "  And  I 
am  glad  you  are  not.  You  are  good  and  pure  and  true, — 
these  graces  outweigh  all  cleverness." 

Her  cheeks  flushed  prettily, — she  thought  of  a  girl  who 
had  been  her  schoolmate  at  Brighton,  one  of  the  boldest 
little  hussies  that  ever  flashed  eyes  to  the  light  of  day,  yet 
who  could  assume  the  dainty  simpering  air  of  maiden- 
modest  perfection  at  the  moment's  notice.  She  wished  she 
could  do  the  same,  but  she  had  not  studied  the  trick  care- 
fully enough,  and  she  was  afraid  to  try  more  of  it  than 
just  a  little  tremulous  smile  and  a  quick  downward  glance 
at  her  fan.  Helmsley  watched  her  attentively — almost 
craftily.  It  did  not  strain  his  sense  of  perspicuity  over 
much  to  see  exactly  what  was  going  on  in  her  mind.  He 
settled  himself  a  little  more  comfortably  in  his  chair,  and 
pressing  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together,  looked  at  her  over 


40        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

this  pointed  rampart  of  polished  nails  as  though  she  were 
something  altogether  curious  and  remarkable. 

"  The  virtues  of  a  woman  are  her  wealth  and  worth,"  he 
said  sententiously,  as  though  he  were  quoting  a  maxim  out 
of  a  child's  copybook.  "  A  jewel's  price  is  not  so  much 
for  its  size  and  weight  as  for  its  particular  lustre.  But 
common  commercial  people — like  myself — even  if  they  have 
the  good  fortune  to  find  a  diamond  likely  to  surpass  all 
others  in  the  market,  are  never  content  till  they  have  tested 
it.  Every  Jew  bites  his  coin.  And  I  am  something  of  a 
Jew.  I  like  to  know  the  exact  value  of  what  I  esteem  as 
precious.  And  so  I  test  it." 

"Yes?"  She  threw  in  this  interjected  query  simply  be- 
cause she  did  not  know  what  to  say.  She  thought  he  was 
talking  very  oddly,  and  wondered  whether  he  was  quite 
sane. 

"  Yes,"  he  echoed ;  "  I  test  it.  And,  Lucy,  I  think  so 
highly  of  you,  and  esteem  you  as  so  very  fair  a  pearl  of 
womanhood,  that  I  am  inclined  to  test  you  just  as  I  would 
a  priceless  gem.  Do  you  object?" 

She  glanced  up  at  him  flutteringly,  vaguely  surprised. 
The  corners  of  his  mouth  relaxed  into  the  shadow  of  a 
smile,  and  she  was  reassured. 

"  Object?  Of  course  not!  As  if  I  should  object  to  any- 
thing you  wish !  "  she  said  amiably.  "  But — I  don't  quite 
understand " 

"  No,  possibly  not,"  he  interrupted ;  "  I  know  I  have 
not  the  art  of  making  myself  very  clear  in  matters  which 
deeply  and  personally  affect  myself.  I  have  nerves  still, 
and  some  remnant  of  a  heart, — these  occasionally  trouble 
me " 

She  leaned  forward  and  put  her  delicately  gloved  hand 
on  his. 

"  Dear  King  David !  "  she  murmured.  "  You  are  always 
so  good !  " 

He  took  the  little  fingers  in  his  own  :clasp  and  held  them 
gently. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,  Lucy,"  he  said ;  "  and 
it  is  a  very  difficult  question,  because  I  feel  that  your  answer 
to  it  may  mean  a  great  sorrow  for  me, — a  great  disappoint- 
ment. The  question  is  the  'test'  I  speak  of.  Shall  I  put 
it  to  you?" 

"  Please  do !  "  she  answered,  her  heart  beginning  to  beat 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        41 

violently.  He  was  coming  to  the  point  at  last,  she  thought, 
and  a  few  words  more  would  surely  make  her  the  future 
mistress  of  the  Helmsley  millions !  "  If  I  can  answer  it 
I  will ! " 

"  Shall  I  ask  you  my  question,  or  shall  I  not  ?  "  he  went 
on,  gripping  her  hand  hard,  and  half  raising  himself  in  his 
chair  as  he  looked  intently  at  her  telltale  face.  "  For  it 
means  more  than  you  can  realise.  It  is  an.  audacious, 
impudent  question,  Lucy, — one  that  no  man  of  my  age  ought 
to  ask  any  woman, — one  that  is  likely  to  offend  you  very 
much ! " 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his. 

"  Offend  me  ?  "  and  her  eyes  widened1  with  a  blank  won- 
der. "What  can  it  be?" 

"  Ah !  What  can  it  be !  Think  of  all  the  most  audacious 
and  impudent  things  a  man — an  old  man — could  say  to  a 
young  woman !  Suppose, — it  is  only  supposition,  remem- 
ber,— suppose,  for  instance,  I  were  to  ask  you  to  marry 
me?" 

A  smile,  brilliant  and  exultant,  flashed  over. her  features, — 
she  almost  laughed  out  her  inward  joy. 

"  I  should  accept  you  at  once !  "  she  said. 

With  sudden  impetuosity  he  rose,  and  pushing  away  his 
chair,  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  looking  down 
upon  her. 

"  You  would !  "  and  his  voice  was  low  and  tense.  "  You! 
— you  would  actually  marry  me  ?  " 

She,  rising  likewise,  confronted  him  in  all  her  fresh  and 
youthful  beauty,  fair  and  smiling,  her  bosom  heaving  and 
her  eyes  dilating  with  eagerness. 

"  I  would, — indeed  I  would !  "  she  averred  delightedly. 
"  I  would  rather  marry  you  than  any  man  in  the  world !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.    Then — 

"Why?  "he  asked. 

The  simple  monosyllabic  query  completely  confused  her. 
It  was  unexpected,  and  she  was  at  her  wit's  end  how  to 
reply  to  it.  Moreover,  he  kept  his  eyes  so  pertinaciously 
fixed  upon  her  that  she  felt  her  blood  rising  to  her  cheeks 
and  brow  in  a  hot  flush  of — shame?  Oh  no! — not  shame, 
but  merely  petulant  vexation.  The  proper  way  for  him  to 
behave  at  this  juncture,  so  she  reflected,  would  be  that  he 
should  take  her  tenderly  in  his  arms  and  murmur,  after 
the  penny-dreadful  style  of  elderly  hero,  "  My  darling,  my 


42        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

darling!  Can  you,  so  young  and  beautiful,  really  care  for 
an  old  fogey  like  me  ?  "  to  which  she  would,  of  course,  have 
replied  in  the  same  fashion,  and  with  the  most  charming  in- 
sincerity— "  Dearest !  Do  not  talk  of  age !  You  will  never 
be  old  to  my  fond  heart !  "  But  to  stand,  as  he  was  stand- 
ing, like  a  rigid  figure  of  bronze,  with  a  hard  pale  face  in 
which  only  the  eyes  seemed  living,  and  to  merely  ask 
"  Why  "  she  would  rather  marry  him  than  any  other  man  in 
the  world,  was  absurd,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  and  indeed 
quite  lacking  in  all  delicacy  of  sentiment.  She  sought 
about  in  her  mind  for  some  way  out  of  the  difficulty  and 
could  find  none.  She  grew  more  and  more  painfully  crim- 
son, and  wished  she  could  cry.  A  well  worked-up  passion 
of  tears  would  have  come  in  very  usefully  just  then,  but 
somehow  she  could  not  turn  the  passion  on.  And  a  horrid 
sense  of  incompetency  and  failure  began  to  steal  over  her 
— an  awful  foreboding  of  defeat.  What  could  she  do  to 
seize  the  slippery  opportunity  and  grasp  the  doubtful  prize  ? 
How  could  she  land  the  big  golden  fish  which  she  foolishly 
fancied  she  had  at  the  end  of  her  line?  Never  had  she  felt 
so  helpless  or  so  angry. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  repeated — "  Why  would  you  marry  me  ?  Not 
for  love  certainly.  Even  if  you  believed  in  love — which 
you  say  you  do  not, — you  could  not  at  your  age  love  a  man 
at  mine.  That  would  be  impossible  and  unnatural.  I  am 
old  enough  to  be  your  grandfather.  Think  again,  Lucy! 
Perhaps  you  spoke  hastily — out  of  girlish  thoughtlessness 
— or  out  of  kindness  and  a  wish  to  please  me, — but  do  not, 
in  so  serious  a  matter,  consider  me  at  all.  Consider  your- 
self. Consider  your  own  nature  and  temperament — your 
own  life — your  own  future — your  own  happiness,  would 
you,  young  as  you  are,  with  all  the  world  before  you 
— would  you,  if  I  asked  you,  deliberately  and  of  your  own 
free  will,  marry  me  ?  " 

She  drew  a  sharp  breath,  and  hurriedly  wondered  what 
was  best  to  do.  He  spoke  so  strangely! — he  looked  so 
oddly!  But  that  might  be  because  he  was  in  love  with 
her !  Her  lips  parted, — she  faced  him  straightly,  lifting  her 
head  with  a  little  air  of  something  like  defiance. 

"  I  would ! — of  course  I  would !  "  she  replied.  "  Nothing 
could  make  me  happier !  " 

He  gave  a  kind  of  gesture  with  his  hands  as  though 
he  threw  aside  some  cherished  object. 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        43 

"  So  vanishes  my  last  illusion !  "  he  said.  "  Well !  Let 
it  go!" 

She  gazed  at  him  stupidly.  What  did  he  mean  ?  Why  did 
he  not  now  emulate  the  penny-dreadful  heroes  and  say 
"  My  darling !  "  Nothing  seemed  further  from  his  thoughts. 
His  eyes  rested  upon  her  with  a  coldness  such  as  she 
had  never  seen  in  them  before,  and  his  features  hardened. 

"  I  should  have  known  the  modern  world  and  modern 
education  better,"  he  went  on,  speaking  more  to  himself 
than  to  her.  "  I  have  had  experience  enough.  I  should 
never  have  allowed  myself  to  keep  even  the  shred  of  a 
belief  in  woman's  honesty !  " 

She  started,  and  flamed  into  a  heat  of  protest. 

"  Mr.  Helmsley !  " 

He  raised  a  deprecatory  hand. 

"  Pardon  me !  "  he  said  wearily — "  I  am  an  old  man, 
accustomed  to  express  myself  bluntly.  Even  if  I  vex  you, 
I  fear  I  shall  not  know  how  to  apologise.  I  had 
thought " 

He  broke  off,  then  with  an  effort  resumed — 

"  I  had  thought,  Lucy,  that  you  were  above  all  bribery 
and  corruption." 

"  Bribery  ? — Corruption  ? "  she  stammered,  and  in  a 
tremor  of  excitement  and  perturbation  her  fan  dropped  from 
her  hands  to  the  floor.  He  stooped  for  it  with  the  ease 
and  grace  of  a  far  younger  man,  and  returned  it  to  her. 

"  Yes,  bribery  and  corruption,"  he  continued  quietly. 
"  The  bribery  of  wealth — the  corruption  of  position.  These 
are  the  sole  objects  for  which  (if  I  asked  you,  which  I 
have  not  done)  you  would  marry  me.  For  there  is  nothing 
else  I  have  to  offer  you.  I  could  not  give  you  the  sentiment 
or  passion  of  a  husband  (if  husbands  ever  have  sentiment 
or  passion  nowadays),  because  all  such  feeling  is  dead  in 
me.  I  could  not  be  your  '  friend '  in  marriage — because 
I  should  always  remember  that  our  matrimonial  '  friendship  ' 
was  merely  one  of  cash  supply  and  demand.  You  see  1 
speak  very  plainly.  I  am  not  a  polite  person — not  even  a 
conventional  one.  I  am  too  old  to  tell  lies.  Lying  is  never 
a  profitable  business  in  youth — but  in  age  it  is  pure  waste 
of  time  and  energy.  With  one  foot  in  the  grave  it  is  as 
well  to  keep  the  other  from  slipping." 

He  paused.  She  tried  to  say  something,  but  could  find 
no  suitable  words  with  which  to  answer  him.  He  looked 


44        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

at  her  steadily,  half  expecting  her  to  speak,  and  there  was 
both  pain  and  sorrow  in  the  depths  of  his  tired  eyes. 

"  I  need  not  prolong  this  conversation,"  he  said,  after  a 
minute's  silence.  "  For  it  must  be  as  embarrassing  to  you 
as  it  is  to  me.  It  is  quite  my  own  fault  that  I  built  too 
many  hopes  upon  you,  Lucy!  I  set  you  up  on  a  pedestal 
and  you  have  yourself  stepped  down  from  it — I  have  put 
you  to  the  test,  and  you  have  failed.  I  daresay  the  failure 
is  as  much  the  concern  of  your  parents  and  the  way  in 
which  they  have  brought  you  up,  as  it  is  of  any  latent  weak- 
ness in  your  own  mind  and  character.  But, — if,  when  I 
suggested  such  an  absurd  and  unnatural  proposition  as  mar- 
riage between  myself  and  you,  you  had  at  once,  like  a  true 
woman,  gently  and  firmly  repudiatel  the  idea,  then " 

"  Then— what  ?"  she  faltered. 

"  Why,  then  I  should  have  made  you  my  sole  heiress," 
he  said  quietly. 

Her  eyes  opened  in  blank  wonderment  and  despair.  Was 
it  possible !  Had  she  been  so  near  her  golden  El  Dorado 
only  to  see  the  shining  shores  receding,  and  the  glittering 
harbour  closed !  Oh,  it  was  cruel !  Horrible !  There  was 
a  convulsive  catch  in  her  throat  which  she  managed  to 
turn  into  the  laugh  hysterical. 

"  Really ! "  she  ejaculated,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  flip- 
pancy ;  and,  in  her  turn,  she  asked  the  question,  "  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  should  have  known  you  were  honest,"  an- 
swered Helmsley,  with  emphasis.  "  Honest  to  your  wom- 
anly instincts,  and  to  the  simplest  and  purest  part  of  your 
nature.  I  should  have  proved  for  myself  the  fact  that 
you  refused  to  sell  your  beautiful  person  for  gold — that 
you  were  no  slave  in  the  world's  auction-mart,  but  a  free, 
proud,  noble-hearted  English  girl  who  meant  to  be  faithful 
to  all  that  was  highest  and  best  in  her  soul.  Ah,  Lucy! 
You  are  not  this  little  dream-girl  of  mine !  You  are  a  very 
realistic  modern  woman  with  whom  a  man's  '  ideal '  has 
nothing  in  common !  " 

She  was  silent,  half-stifled  with  rage.  He  stepped  up  to 
her  and  took  her  hand. 

"  Good-night,  Lucy !    Good-bye !  " 

She  wrenched  her  fingers  from  his  clasp,  and  a  sudden, 
uncontrollable  fury  possessed  her. 

"  I  hate  you !  "  she  said  between  her  set  teeth.  "  You  are 
mean !  Mean !  I  hate  you !  " 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        45 

He  stood  quite  still,  gravely  irresponsive. 

"  You  have  deceived  me — cheated  me !  "  she  went  on, 
angrily  and  recklessly.  "  You  made  me  think  you  wanted 
to  marry  me." 

The  corners  of  his  mouth  went  up  under  his  ashen-grey 
moustache  in  a  chill  smile. 

"  Pardon  me ! "  he  interrupted.  "  But  did  I  make  you 
think  ?  or  did  you  think  it  of  your  own  accord  ?  " 

She  plucked  at  her  fan  nervously. 

"  Any  girl — I  don't  care  who  she  is — would  accept  you 
if  you  asked  her  to  marry  you !  "  she  said  hotly.  "  It  would 
be  perfectly  idiotic  to  refuse  such  a  rich  man,  even  if  he 
were  Methusaleh  himself.  There's  nothing  wrong  or  dis- 
honest in  taking  the  chance  of  having  plenty  of  money,  if  it  is 
offered." 

He  looked  at  her,  vaguely  compassionating  her  loss  of 
self-control. 

"  No,  there  is  nothing  wrong  or  dishonest  in  taking  the 
chance  of  having  plenty  of  money,  if  such  a  chance  can  be 
had  without  shame  and  dishonour,"  he  said.  "  But  I,  per- 
sonally, should  consider  a  woman  hopelessly  lost  to  every 
sense  of  self-respect,  if  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  she  con- 
sented to  marry  a  man  of  seventy  for  the  sake  of  his  wealth. 
And  I  should  equally  consider  the  man  of  seventy  a  dis- 
grace to  the  name  of  manhood  if  he  condoned  the  voluntary 
sale  of  such  a  woman  by  becoming  her  purchaser." 

She  lifted  her  head  with  a  haughty  air. 

"  Then,  if  you  thought  these  things,  you  had  no  right 
to  propose  to  me ! "  she  said  passionately. 

He  was  faintly  amused. 

"  I  did  not  propose  to  you,  Lucy,"  he  answered,  "  and 
I  never  intended  to  do  so !  I  merely  asked  what  your  answer 
would  be  if  I  did." 

"  It  comes  to  the  same  thing ! "  she  muttered. 

"  Pardon  me,  not  quite !  I  told  you  I  was  putting  you 
to  a  test.  That  you  failed  to  stand  my  test  is  the  conclusion 
of  the  whole  affair.  We  really  need  say  no  more  about  it. 
The  matter  is  finished." 

She  bit  her  lips  vexedly,  then  forced  a  hard  smile. 

"It's  about  time  it  was  finished,  I'm  sure!"  she  said 
carelessly.  "  I'm  perfectly  tired  out !  " 

"  No  doubt  you  are — you  must  be — I  was  forgetting  how 
late  it  is,"  and  with  ceremonious  politeness  he  opened  the 


46        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

door  for  her  to  pass.  "  You  have  had  an  exhausting  even- 
ing! Forgive  me  for  any  pain  or  vexation — or — or  anger 
I  may  have  caused  you — and,  good-night,  Lucy !  God  bless 
you !  " 

He  held  out  his  hand.  He  looked  worn  and  wan,  and 
Tiis  face  showed  pitiful  marks  of  fatigue,  loneliness, 
and  sorrow,  but  the  girl  was  too  much  incensed  by  her 
own  disappointment  to  forgive  him  for  the  unexpected 
trial  to  which  he  had  submitted  her  disposition  and 
character. 

"  Good-night !  "  she  said  curtly,  avoiding  his  glance.  "  I 
suppose  everybody's  gone  by  this  time ;  mother  will  be  wait- 
ing for  me." 

"  Won't  you  shake  hands  ?  "  he  pleaded  gently.  "  I'm 
sorry  that  I  expected  more  of  you  than  you  could  give, 
Lucy!  but  I  want  you  to  be  happy,  and  I  think  and  hope 
you  will  be,  if  you  let  the  best  part  of  you  have  its  way. 
Still,  it  may  happen  that  I  shall  never  see  you  again — so 
let  us  part  friends !  " 

She  raised  her  eyes,  hardened  now  in  their  expression 
"by  intense  malignity  and  spite,  and  fixed  them  fully  upon 
him. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  friends  with  you  any  more !  "  she 
said.  "  You  are  cruel  and  selfish,  and  you  have  treated 
me  abominably!  I  am  sure  you  will  die  miserably,  without 
a  soul  to  care  for  you!  And  I  hope — yes,  I  hope  I  shall 
never  hear  of  you,  never  see  you  any  more  as  long  as  you 
live !  You  could  never  have  really  had  the  least  bit  of 
affection  for  me  when  I  was  a  child." 

He  interrupted  her  by  a  quick,  stern  gesture. 

"  That  child  is  dead  !    Do  not  speak  of  her !  " 

Something  in  his  aspect  awed  her — something  of  the  mute 
despair  and  solitude  of  a  man  who  has  lost  his  last  hope 
on  earth,  shadowed  his  pallid  features  as  with  a  forecast 
of  approaching  dissolution.  Involuntarily  she  trembled,  and 
felt  cold  ;  her  head  drooped ; — for  a  moment  her  conscience 
pricked  her,  reminding  her  how  she  had  schemed  and 
plotted  and  planned  to  become  the  wife  of  this  sad,  frail 
old  man  ever  since  she  had  reached  the  mature  age  of  six- 
teen,— for  a  moment  she  was  impelled  to  make  a  clean  con- 
fession of  her  own  egotism,  and  to  ask  his  pardon  for 
having,  under  the  tuition  of  her  mother,  made  him  the  un- 
conscious pivot  of  all  her  worldly  ambitions, — then,  with 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        47 

a  sudden  impetuous  movement,  she  swept  past  him  without 
a  word,  and  ran  downstairs. 

There  she  found  half  the  evening's  guests  gone,  and  the 
other  half  well  on  the  move.  Some  of  these  glanced  at  her 
inquiringly,  with  "  nods  and  becks  and  wreathed  smiles," 
but  she  paid  no  heed  to  any  of  them.  Her  mother  came 
eagerly  up  to  her,  anxiety  purpling  every  vein  of  her  mot- 
tled countenance,  but  no  word  did  she  utter,  till,  having  put 
on  their  cloaks,  the  two  waited  together  on  the  steps  of  the 
mansion,  with  flunkeys  on  either  side,  for  the  hired 
brougham  to  bowl  up  in  as  im-hired  a  style  as  was  possible 
at  the  price  of  one  guinea  for  the  night's  outing. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Helmsley  ?  "  then  asked  Mrs.  Sorrel. 

"  In  his  own  room,  I  believe,"  replied  Lucy,  frigidly. 

"  Isn't  he  coming  to  see  you  into  the  carriage  and  say 
good-night  ?  " 

"  Why  should  he  ?  "  demanded  the  girl,  peremptorily. 

Mrs.  Sorrel  became  visibly  agitated.  She  glanced  at  the 
impassive  flunkeys  nervously. 

"  O  my  dear!  "  she  whimpered  softly,  "  what's  the  matter? 
Has  anything  happened  ?  " 

At  that  moment  the  expected  vehicle  lumbered  up  with 
a  very  creditable  clatter  of  well-assumed  importance.  The 
flunkeys  relaxed  their  formal  attitudes  and  hastened  to  as- 
sist both  mother  and  daughter  into  its  somewhat  stuffy 
recess.  Another  moment  and  they  were  driven  off,  Lucy 
looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  numerous  lights  which 
twinkled  from  every  story  of  the  stately  building  they  had 
just  left,  till  the  last  bright  point  of  luminance  had  vanished. 
Then  the  strain  on  her  mind  gave  way — and  to  Mrs.  Sorrel's 
alarm  and  amazement,  she  suddenly  burst  into  a  stormy 
passion  of  tears. 

"  It's  all  over!  "  she  sobbed  angrily,  "  all  over!  I've  lost 
him  !  I've  lost  everything !  " 

Mrs.  Sorrel  gave  a  kind  of  weasel  cry  and  clasped  her 
fat  hands  convulsively. 

"  Oh,  you  little  fool !  "  she  burst  out,  "  what  have  you 
done?" 

Thus  violently  adjured,  Lucy,  with  angry  gasps  of  spite 
and  disappointment,  related  in  full  the  maddening,  the  ec- 
centric, the  altogether  incomprehensible  and  inexcusable 
conduct  of  the  famous  millionaire,  "  old  Gold-dust,"  towards 
her  beautiful,  outraged,  and  injured  self.  Her  mother  sat 


48        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

listening  in  a  kind  of  frozen  horror  which  might  possibly 
have  become  rigid,  had  it  not  been  for  the  occasional  bump- 
ing of  the  hired  brougham  over  ruts  and  loose  stones,  which 
bumping  shook  her  superfluous  flesh  into  agitated  bosom- 
waves. 

"  I  ought  to  have  guessed  it !  I  ought  to  have  followed 
my  own  instinct !  "  she  said,  in  sepulchral  tones.  "  It  came 
to  me  like  a  flash,  when  I  was  talking  to  him  this  evening! 
I  said  to  myself,  '  he  is  in  a  moral  mood.'  And  he  was. 
Nothing  is  so  hopeless,  so  dreadful !  If  I  had  only  thought 
he  would  carry  on  that  mood  with  you,  I  would  have  warned 
you !  You  could  have  held  off  a  little — it  would  perhaps 
have  been  the  wiser  course." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  indeed !  "  cried  Lucy,  dabbing 
her  eyes  with  her  scented  handkerchief ;  "  He  would  have 
left  me  every  penny  he  has  in  the  world  if  I  had  refused 
him !  He  told  me  so  as  coolly  as  possible !  " 

Mrs.  Sorrel  sank  back  with  a  groan. 

"  Oh  dear,  oh  dear !  "  she  wailed  feebly.  "  Can  nothing 
be  done  ?  " 

"  Nothing !  "  And  Lucy,  now  worked  up  to  hysterical 
pitch,  felt  as  if  she  could  break  the  windows,  beat  her 
mother,  or  do  anything  else  equally  reckless  and  irresponsi- 
ble. "  I  shall  be  left  to  myself  now, — he  will  never  ask 
me  to  his  house  again,  never  give  me  any  parties  or  drives 
or  opera-boxes  or  jewels, — he  will  never  come  to  see  me, 
and  I  shall  have  no  pleasure  at  all !  I  shall  sink  into  a 
dowdy,  frowsy,  shabby-genteel  old  maid  for  the  rest  of  my 
life!  It  is  detestable!"  and  she  uttered  a  suppressed  small 
shriek  on  the  word,  "  It  has  been  a  hateful,  abominable 
birthday !  Everybody  will  be  laughing  at  me  up  their 
sleeves !  Think  of  Lady  Larford  ! " 

This  suggestion  was  too  dreadful  for  comment,  and  Mrs. 
Sorrel  closed  her  eyes,  visibly  shuddering. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  it  possible !  "  she  moaned 
drearily,  "  a  millionaire,  with  such  mad  ideas !  I  had  thought 
him  always  such  a  sensible  man !  And  he  seemed  to  admire 
you  so  much !  What  will  he  do  with  all  his  money  ?  " 

The  fair  Lucy  sighed,  sobbed,  and  swallowed  her  tears 
into  silence.  And  again,  like  the  doubtful  refrain  of  a  song 
in  a  bad  dream,  her  mother  moaned  and  murmured — 

"  What  will  he  do  with  all  his  money !  " 


CHAPTER     IV 

Two  or  three  days  later,  Sir  Francis  Vesey  was  sitting  in 
his  private  office,  a  musty  den  enclosed  within  the  heart 
of  the  city,  listening,  or  trying  to  listen,  to  the  dull  clerical 
monotone  of  a  clerk's  dry  voice  detailing  the  wearisome 
items  of  certain  legal  formulae  preliminary  to  an  impending 
case.  Sir  Francis  had  yawned  capaciously  once  or  twice, 
and  had  played  absently  with  a  large  ink-stained  paper- 
knife, — signs  that  his  mind  was  wandering  somewhat  from 
the  point  at  issue.  He  was  a  conscientious  man,  but  he  was 
getting  old,  and  the  disputations  of  obstinate  or  foolish 
clients  were  becoming  troublesome  to  him.  Moreover,  the 
case  concerning  which  his  clerk  was  prosing  along  in  the 
style  of  a  chapel  demagogue  engaged  in  extemporary  prayer, 
was  an  extremely  uninteresting  one,  and  he  thought  hazily 
of  his  lunch.  The  hour  for  that  meal  was  approaching, — 
a  fact  for  which  he  was  devoutly  thankful.  For  after  lunch, 
he  gave  himself  his  own  release  from  work  for  the  rest  of 
the  day.  He  left  it  all  to  his  subordinates,  and  to  his  partner 
Symonds,  who  was  some  eight  or  ten  years  his  junior.  He 
glanced  at  the  clock,  and  beat  a  tattoo  with  his  foot  on  the 
floor,  conscious  of  his  inward  impatience  with  the  reiterated 
"  Whereas  the  said  "  and  "  Witnesseth  the  so-and-so,"  which 
echoed  dully  on  the  otherwise  unbroken  silence.  It  was  a 
warm,  sunshiny  morning,  but  the  brightness  of  the  outer  air 
was  poorly  reflected  in  the  stuffy  room,  which  though  com- 
fortably and  even  luxuriously  furnished,  conveyed  the  usual 
sense  of  dismal  depression  common  to  London  precincts  of 
the  law.  Two  or  three  flies  buzzed  irritably  now  and  then 
against  the  smoke-begrimed  windowpanes,  and  the  clerk's 
dreary  preamble  went  on  and  on  till  Sir  Francis  closed  his 
eyes  and  wondered  whether  a  small  "  catnap  "  would  be  pos- 
sible between  the  sections  of  the  seeming  interminable  docu- 
ment. Suddenly,  to  his  relief,  there  came  a  sharp  tap  at 
the  door,  and  an  office  boy  looked  in. 

"  Mr.  Helmsley's  man,  sir,"  he  announced.  "  Wants  to 
see  you  personally." 

Sir  Francis  got  up  from  his  chair  with  alacrity. 

"  All  right !    Show  him  in." 

49 


50        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

The  boy  retired,  and  presently  reappearing,  ushered  in 
a  staid-looking  personage  in  black  who,  saluting  Sir  Francis 
respectfully,  handed  him  a  letter  marked  "  Confidential." 

"  Nice  day,  Benson,"  remarked  the  lawyer  cheerfully, 
as  he  took  the  missive.  "  Is  your  master  quite  well  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  well,  Sir  Francis,  thank  you,"  replied  Benson. 
"  Leastways  he  was  when  I  saw  him  off  just  now." 

"Oh!    He's  gone  then?" 

"  Yes,  Sir  Francis.    He's  gone." 

Sir  Francis  broke  the  seal  of  the  letter, — then  bethinking 
himself  of  "  Whereas  the  said  "  and  "  Witnesseth  the  so- 
and-so,"  turned  to  his  worn  and  jaded  clerk. 

"  That  will  do  for  the  present,"  he  said.    "  You  can  go." 

With  pleasing  haste  the  clerk  put  together  the  volu- 
minous folios  of  blue  paper  from  which  he  had  been  reading, 
and  quickly  made  his  exit,  while  Sir  Francis,  still  standing, 
put  on  his  glasses  and  unfolded  the  one  sheet  of  note-paper 
on  which  Helmsley's  communication  was  written.  Glancing 
it  up  and  down,  he  turned  it  over  and  over — then  addressed 
himself  to  the  attentively  waiting  Benson. 

"  So  Mr.  Helmsley  has  started  on  his  trip  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sir  Francis.    Quite  alone." 

"  Did  he  say  where  he  was  going?  " 

"  He  booked  for  Southhampton,  sir." 

"Oh!" 

"  And,"  proceeded  Benson,  "  he  only  took  one  port- 
manteau." 

"Oh!"  again  ejaculated  the  lawyer.  And,  stroking  his 
bearded  chin,  he  thought  awhile. 

"  Are  you  going  to  stay  at  Carlton  House  Terrace  till 
he  comes  back  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  month's  holiday,  sir.  Then  I  return  to  my 
place.  The  same  order  applies  to  all  the  servants,  sir." 

"  I  see  !    Well !  " 

And  then  there  came  a  pause. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Sir  Francis,  after  some  minutes'  re- 
flection, "  I  suppose  you  know  that  during  Mr.  Helmsley's 
absence  you  are  to  apply  to  me  for  wages  and  household 
expenses — that,  in  fact,  your  master  has  placed  me  in  charge 
of 'all  his  affairs?" 

"  So  I  have  understood,  sir,"  replied  Benson,  deferentially. 
"  Mr.  Helmsley  called  us  all  into  his  room  last  night  and  told 
us  so." 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        51 

"  Oh,  he  did,  did  he?  But,  of  course,  as  a  man  of  busi- 
ness, he  would  leave  nothing  incomplete.  Now,  supposing 
Mr.  Helmsley  is  away  more  than  a  month,  I  will  call  or  send 
to  the  house  at  stated  intervals  to  see  how  things  are  getting 
on,  and  arrange  any  matters  that  may  need  arranging  " — 
here  he  glanced  at  the  letter  in  his  hand — "  as  your  master 
requests.  And — if  you  want  anything — or  wish  to  know 
any  news, — you  can  always  call  here  and  inquire." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir  Francis." 

"  I'm  sorry," — and  the  lawyer's  shrewd  yet  kindly  eyes 
looked  somewhat  troubled — "  I'm  very  sorry  that  my  old 
friend  hasn't  taken  you  with  him,  Benson." 

Benson  caught  the  ring  of  sympathetic  interest  in  his 
voice  and  at  once  responded  to  it. 

"  Well,  sir,  so  am  I !  "  he  said  heartily.  "  For  Mr.  Helm- 
sley's  over  seventy,  and  he  isn't  as  strong  as  he  thinks 
himself  to  be  by  a  long  way.  He  ought  to  have  some  one 
with  him.  But  he  wouldn't  hear  of  my  going.  He  can  be 
right  down  obstinate  if  he  likes,  you  know,  sir,  though 
he  is  one  of  the  best  gentlemen  to  work  for  that  ever  lived. 
But  he  will  have  his  own  way,  and,  bad  or  good,  he  takes  it." 

"  Quite  true ! "  murmured  Sir  Francis  meditatively. 
"Very  true!" 

A  silence  fell  between  them. 

"  You  say  he  isn't  as  strong  as  he  thinks  himself  to  be," 
began  Vesey  again,  presently.  "  Surely  he's  wonderfully 
alert  and  active  for  his  time  of  life  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  sir,  he's  active  enough,  but  it's  all  effort  and 
nerve  with  him  now.  He  makes  up  his  mind  like,  and  de- 
termines to  be  strong,  in  spite  of  being  weak.  Only  six 
months  ago  the  doctor  told  him  to  be  careful,  as  his  heart 
wasn't  quite  up  to  the  mark." 

"Ah!"  ejaculated  Sir  Francis  ruefully.  "And  did  the 
doctor  recommend  any  special  treatment?" 

"  Yes,  sir.    Change  of  air  and  complete  rest." 

The  lawyer's  countenance  cleared. 

"  Then  you  may  depend  upon  it  that's  why  he  has  gone 
away  by  himself,  Benson,"  he  said.  "  He  wants  change 
of  air,  rest,  and  different  surroundings.  And  as  he  won't 
have  letters  forwarded,  and  doesn't  give  any  future  ad- 
dress, I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  starts  off  yachting  some- 
where  " 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,  I  don't  think  so,"  interposed  Benson,  "  The 


52        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

yacht's  in  the  dry  dock,  and  I  know  he  hasn't  given  any 
orders  to  have  her  got  ready." 

"  Well,  well,  if  he  wants  change  and  rest,  he's  wise  to 
put  a  distance  between  himself  and  his  business  affairs  " — 
and  Sir  Francis  here  looked  round  for  his  hat  and  walking- 
stick.  "  Take  me,  for  example !  Why,  I'm  a  different  man 
when  I  leave  this  office  and  go  home  to  lunch !  I'm  going 
now.  I  don't  think — I  really  don't  think  there  is  any  cause 
for  uneasiness,  Benson.  Your  master  will  let  us  know  if 
there's  anything  wrong  with  him." 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  he'll  be  sure  to  do  that.  He  said  he  would 
telegraph  for  me  if  he  wanted  me." 

"  Good !  Now,  if  you  get  any  news  of  him  before  I  do, 
or  if  you  are  anxious  that  I  should  attend  to  any  special 
matter,  you'll  always  find  me  here  till  one  o'clock.  You 
know  my  private  address  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  That's  all  right.  And  when  I  go  down  to  my  country 
place  for  the  summer,  you  can  come  there  whenever  your 
business  is  urgent.  I'll  settle  all  expenses  with  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir  Francis.     Good-day !  " 

w  Good-day !    A  pleasant  holiday  to  you !  " 

Benson  bowed  his  respectful  thanks  again,  and  retired. 

Sir  Francis  Vesey,  left  alone,  took  his  hat  and  gazed 
abstractedly  into  its  silk-lined  crown  before  putting  it  on 
his  head.  Then  setting  it  aside,  he  drew  Helmsley's  letter 
from  his  pocket  and  read  it  through  again.  It  ran  as 
follows : — 

"  MY  DEAR  VESEY, — I  had  some  rather  bad  news  on  the 
night  of  Miss  Lucy  Sorrel's  birthday  party.  A  certain 
speculation  in  which  I  had  an  interest  has  failed,  and  I  have 
lost  on  the  whole  '  gamble.'  The  matter  will  not,  however, 
affect  my  financial  position.  You  have  all  your  instructions 
in  order  as  given  to  you  when  we  last  met,  so  I  shall  leave 
town  with  an  easy  mind.  I  am  likely  to  be  away  for  some 
time,  and  am  not  yet  certain  of  my  destination.  Consider 
me,  therefore,  for  the  present  as  lost.  Should  I  die  sud- 
denly, or  at  sickly  leisure,  I  carry  a  letter  on  my  person 
which  will  be  conveyed  to  you,  making  you  acquainted  with 
the  sad  (  ?)  event  as  soon  as  it  occurs.  And  for  all  your 
kindly  services  in  the  way  of  both  business  and  friendship, 
I  owe  you  a  vast  debt  of  thanks,  which  debt  shall  be  fully 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        53 

and  gratefully  acknowledged, — when  I  make  my  Will.  I 
may  possibly  employ  another  lawyer  than  yourself  for  this 
purpose.  But,  for  the  immediate  time,  all  my  affairs  are  in 
your  hands,  as  they  have  been  for  these  twenty  years  or 
more.  My  business  goes  on  as  usual,  of  course;  it  is  a 
wheel  so  well  accustomed  to  regular  motion  that  it  can 
very  well  grind  for  a  while  without  my  personal  supervision. 
And  so  far  as  my  individual  self  is  concerned,  I  feel  the 
imperative  necessity  of  rest  and  freedom.  I  go  to  find 
these,  even  if  I  lose  myself  in  the  endeavour.  So  farewell ! 
And  as  old-fashioned  folks  used  to  say — '  God  be  with  you  ! ' 
If  there  be  any  meaning  in  the  phrase,  it  is  conveyed  to  you 
in  all  sincerity  by  your  old  friend, 

"DAVID  HELMSLEY." 

"  Cryptic,  positively  cryptic ! "  murmured  Sir  Francis,  as 
he  folded  up  the  letter  and  put  it  by.  "  There's  no  clue 
to  anything  anywhere.  What  does  he  mean  by  a  bad  specu- 
lation ? — a  loss  '  on  the  whole  gamble  '  ?  I  know — or  at 
least  I  thought  I  knew — every  number  on  which  he  had  put 
his  money.  It  won't  affect  his  financial  position,  he  says. 
I  should  think  not!  It  would  take  a  bigger  Colossus  than 
that  of  Rhodes  to  overshadow  Helmsley  in  the  market! 
But  he's  got  some  queer  notion  in  his  mind, — some  scheme 
for  finding  an  heir  to  his  millions, — I'm  sure  he  has!  A 
fit  of  romance  has  seized  him  late  in  life, — he  wants  to  be 
loved  for  himself  alone, — which,  of  course,  at  his  age,  is 
absurd!  No  one  loves  old  people,  except,  perhaps  (in  very 
rare  cases),  their  children, — if  the  children  are  not  hope- 
lessly given  over  to  self  and  the  hour,  which  they  generally 
are."  He  sighed,  and  his  brows  contracted.  He  had  a 
spendthrift  son  and  a  "rapid"  daughter,  and  he  knew  well 
enough  how  little  he  could  depend  upon  them  for  either 
affection  or  respect. 

"  Old  age  is  regarded  as  a  sort  of  crime  nowadays," 
he  continued,  apostrophising  the  dingy  walls  of  his  office, 
as  he  took  his  walking-stick  and  prepared  to  leave  the 
premises — "thanks  to  the  donkey-journalism  of  the  period 
which  brays  down  everything  that  is  not  like  itself — mere 
froth  and  scum.  And  unlike  our  great  classic  teachers  who 
held  that  old  age  was  honourable  and  deserved  the  highest 
place  in  the  senate,  the  present  generation  affects  to  con- 
sider a  man  well  on  the  way  to  dotage  after  forty.  God 


54        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

bless  me ! — what  fools  there  are  in  this  twentieth  century ! — 
what  blatant  idiots!  Imagine  national  affairs  carried  on 
in  the  country  by  its  young  men !  The  Empire  would  soon 
became  a  mere  football  for  general  kicking!  However, 
there's  one  thing  in  this  Helmsley  business  "that  I'm  glad 
of  " — and  his  eyes  twinkled — "  I  believe  the  Sorrels  have 
lost  their  game!  Positively,  I  think  Miss  Lucy  has  broken 
her  line,  and  that  the  fish  has  gone  without  her  hook  in 
its  mouth!  Old  as  he  is,  David  is  not  too  old  to  outwit  a 
woman!  I  gave  him  a  hint,  just  the  slightest  hint  in  the 
world, — and  I  think  he's  taken  it.  Anyhow,  he's  gone, — 
booked  for  Southampton.  And  from  Southampton  a  man 
can  '  ship  himself  all  aboard  of  a  ship/  like  Lord  Bateman 
in  the  ballad,  and  go  anywhere.  Anywhere,  yes ! — but  in 
this  case  I  wonder  where  he  will  go?'  Possibly  to  America 
• — yet  no  ! — I  think  not !  "  And  Sir  Francis,  descending 
his  office  stairs,  went  out  into  the  broad  sunshine  which 
flooded  the  city  streets,  continuing  his  inward  reverie  as  he 
walked, — "  I  think  not.  From  what  he  said  the  other  night, 
I  fancy  not  even  the  haunting  memory  of  'ole  Virginny ' 
will  draw  him  back  there.  '  Consider  me  as  lost/  he  says. 
An  odd  notion !  David  Helmsley,  one  of  the  richest  men  in 
the  whole  of  two  continents,  wishes  to  lose  himself!  Im- 
possible! He's  a  marked  multi-millionaire, — branded  with 
the  golden  sign  of  unlimited  wealth,  and  as  well  known  as  a 
London  terminus  !  If  he  were  '  lost '  to-day,  he'd  be  found 
to-morrow.  As  matters  stand  I  daresay  he'll  turn  up  all 
right  in  a  month's  time  and  I  need  not  worry  my  head 
any  more  about  him  !  " 

With  this  determination  Sir  Francis  went  home  to  lunch- 
eon, and  after  luncheon  duly  appeared  driving  in  the  Park 
with  Lady  Vesey,  like  the  attentive  and  obliging  husband 
he  ever  was,  despite  the  boredom  which  the  "  Row  "  and 
the  "  Ladies'  Mile "  invariably  inflicted  upon  him, — yet 
every  now  and  then  before  him  there  rose  a  mental  image 
of  his  old  friend  "  King  David," — grey,  sad-eyed,  and  lonely 
— flitting  past  like  some  phantom  in  a  dream,  and  wander- 
ing far  away  from  the  crowded  vortex  of  London  life,  where 
his  name  \vas  as  honey  to  a  swarm  of  bees,  into  some  dim 
unreachable  region  of  shadow  and  silence,  with  the  brief 
farewell : 

"  Consider  me  as  lost !  " 


CHAPTER     V 

AMONG  the  many  wild  and  lovely  tangles  of  foliage  and 
flower  which  Nature  and  her  subject  man  succeed  in  work- 
ing out  .together  after  considerable  conflict  and  argument, 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  luxuriant  is  a  Somersetshire 
lane.  Narrow  and  tortuous,  fortified  on  either  side  with 
high  banks  of  rough  turf,  topped  by  garlands  of  climbing 
wild-rose,  bunches  of  corn-cockles  and  tufts  of  meadow- 
sweet, such  a  lane  in  midsummer  is  one  of  beauty's  ways 
through  the  world, — a  path,  which  if  it  lead  to  no  moic 
important  goal  than  a  tiny  village  or  solitary  farm,  is,  to  the 
dreamer  and  poet,  sufficiently  entrancing  in  itself  to  seem 
a  fairy  road  to  fairyland.  Here  and  there  some  grand  elm 
or  beech  tree,  whose  roots  have  hugged  the  soil  for  more 
than  a  century,  spreads  out  broad  protecting  branches  all 
a-shimmer  with  green  leaves, — between  the  uneven  tufts 
of  grass,  the  dainty  "  ragged  robin  "  sprays  its  rose-pink 
blossoms  contrastingly  against  masses  of  snowy  star-wort 
and  wild  strawberry, — the  hedges  lean  close  together,  as 
though  accustomed  to  conceal  the  shy  confidences  of  young 
lovers, — and  from  the  fields  beyond,  the  glad  singing  of 
countless  skylarks,  soaring  one  after  the  other  into  the 
clear  pure  air,  strikes  a  wave  of  repeated  melody  from 
point  to  point  of  the  visible  sky.  All  among  the  delicate 
or  deep  indentures  of  the  coast,  where  the  ocean  creeps 
softly  inland  with  a  caressing  murmur,  or  scoops  out  caverns 
for  itself  among  the  rocks  with  perpetual  roar  and  dash  of 
foam,  the  glamour  of  the  green  extends, — the  "  lane  runs 
down  to  meet  the  sea,  carrying  with  it  its  garlands  of  blos- 
soms, its  branches  of  verdure,  and  all  the  odour  and  fresh- 
ness of  the  woodlands  and  meadows,  and  when  at  last  it 
drops  to  a  conclusion  in  some  little  sandy  bay  or  sparkling 
weir,  it  leaves  an  impression  of  melody  on  the  soul  like 
the  echo  of  a  sweet  song  just  sweetly  sung.  High  up  the 
lanes  run; — low  down  on  the  shore-line  they  come  to  an 
end, — and  the  wayfarer,  pacing  along  at  the  summit  of  their 
devious  windings,  can  hear  the  plash  of  the  sea  below  him 
as  he  walks, — the  little  tender  laughing  plash  if  the  winds 

55 


56        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

are  calm  and  the  day  is  fair, — the  angry  thud  and  boom  of 
the  billows  if  a  storm  is  rising.  These  bye-roads,  of  which 
there  are  so  many  along  the  Somersetshire  coast,  are  often 
very  lonely, — they  are  dangerous  to  traffic,  as  no  two  or- 
dinary sized  vehicles  can  pass  each  other  conveniently  within 
so  narrow  a  compass, — and  in  summer  especially  they  are 
haunted  by  gypsies,  "  pea-pickers,"  and  ill-favoured  men  and 
women  of  the  "  tramp "  species,  slouching  along  across 
country  from  Bristol  to  Minehead,  and  so  over  Countisbury 
Hill  into  Devon.  One  such  questionable-looking  individual 
there  was,  who, — in  a  golden  afternoon  of  July,  when  the 
sun  was  beginning  to  decline  towards  the  west, — paused  in 
his  slow  march  through  the  dust,  which  even  in  the  greenest 
of  hill  and  woodland  ways  is  bound  to  accumulate  thickly 
after  a  fortnight's  lack  of  rain, — and  with  a  sigh  of  fatigue, 
sat  down  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  to  rest.  He  was  an  old  man, 
with  a  thin  weary  face  which  was  rendered  more  gaunt  and 
haggard-looking  by  a  ragged  grey  moustache  and  ugly  stub- 
ble beard  of  some  ten  days'  growth,  and  his  attire  suggested 
that  he  might  possibly  be  a  labourer  dismissed  from  farm 
work  for  the  heinous  crime  of  old  age,  and  therefore  "  on 
the  tramp  "  looking  out  for  a  job.  He  wore  a  soft  slouched 
felt  hat,  very  much  out  of  shape  and  weather-stained, — and 
when  he  had  been  seated  for  a  few  minutes  in  a  kind  of 
apathy  of  lassitude,  he  lifted  the  hat  off,  passing  his  hand 
through  his  abundant  rough  white  hair  in  a  slow  tired  way, 
as  though  by  this  movement  he  sought  to  soothe  some  teas- 
ing pain. 

"  I  think,"  he  murmured,  addressing  himself  to  a  tiny 
brown  bird  which  had  alighted  on  a  branch  of  briar-rose 
hard  by,  and  was  looking  at  him  with  bold  and  lively  inquisi- 
tiveness, — "  I  think  I  have  managed  the  whole  thing  very 
well !  I  have  left  no  clue  anywhere.  My  portmanteau  will 
tell  no  tales,  locked  up  in  the  cloak-room  at  Bristol.  If  it  is 
ever  sold  with  its  contents  '  to  defray  expenses/  nothing  will 
be  found  in  it  but  some  unmarked  clothes.  And  so  far  as 
all  those  who  know  me  are  concerned,  every  trace  of  me 
ends  at  Southampton.  Beyond  Southampton  there  is  a 
blank,  into  which  David  Helmsley,  the  millionaire,  has  van- 
ished. And  David  Helmsley,  the  tramp,  sits  here  in  his 
place ! " 

The  little  brown  bird  preened  its  wing,  and  glanced  at 
him  sideways  intelligently,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  I  quite 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        57 

understand!  You  have  become  one  of  us, — a  wanderer, 
taking  no  thought  for  the  morrow,  but  letting  to-morrow 
take  thought  for  the  things  of  itself.  There  is  a  bond  of 
sympathy  between  me,  the  bird,  and  you,  the  man — we  are 
brothers ! " 

A  sudden  smile  illumined  his  face.  The  situation  was 
novel,  and  to  him  enjoyable.  He  was  greatly  fatigued, — he 
had  over-exerted  himself  during  the  past  three  or  four  days, 
walking  much  further  than  he  had  ever  been  accustomed  to, 
and  his  limbs  ached  sorely — nevertheless,  with  the  sense  of 
rest  and  relief  from  strain,  came  a  certain  exhilaration  of 
spirit,  like  the  vivacious  delight  of  a  boy  who  has  run  away 
from  school,  and  is  defiantly  ready  to  take  all  the  conse- 
quences of  his  disobedience  to  the  rules  of  discipline  and 
order.  For  years  he  had  wanted  a  "  new  "  experience  of 
life.  No  one  would  give  him  what  he  sought.  To  him  the 
"  social "  round  was  ever  the  same  dreary,  heartless  and 
witless  thing,  as  empty  under  the  sway  of  one  king  or  queen 
as  another,  and  as  utterly  profitless  to  peace  or  happiness  as 
it  has  always  been.  The  world  of  finance  was  equally  unin- 
teresting so  far  as  he  was  concerned ;  he  had  exhausted  it, 
and  found  it  no  more  than  a  monotonous  grind  of  gain  which 
ended  in  a  loathing  of  the  thing  gained.  Others  might  and 
would  consume  themselves  in  fevers  of  avarice,  and  surfeits 
of  luxury, — but  for  him  such  temoprary  pleasures  were  past. 
He  desired  a  complete  change, — a  change  of  surroundings, 
a  change  of  associations — and  for  this,  what  could  be  more 
excellent  or  more  wholesome  than  a  taste  of  poverty?  In 
his  time  he  had  met  men  who,  worn  out  with  the  constant 
fight  of  the  body's  materialism  against  the  soul's  idealism, 
had  turned  their  backs  for  ever  on  the  world  and  its  glitter- 
ing shows,  and  had  shut  themselves  up  as  monks  of  "en- 
closed "  or  "  silent "  orders, — others  he  had  known,  who, 
rushing  away  from  what  we  call  civilisation,  had  encamped 
in  the  backwoods  of  America,  or  high  up  among  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  had  lived  the  lives  of  primeval  savages  in 
their  strong  craving  to  assert  a  greater  manliness  than  the 
streets  of  cities  would  allow  them  to  enjoy, — and  all  were 
moved  by  the  same  mainspring  of  action, — the  overpower- 
ing spiritual  demand  within  themselves  which  urged  them 
to  break  loose  from  cowardly  conventions  and  escape  from 
Sham.  He  could  not  compete  with  younger  men  in  taking 
up  wild  sport  and  "  big  game  "  hunting  in  far  lands,  in 


58        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

order  to  give  free  play  to  the  natural  savage  temperament 
which  lies  untamed  at  the  root  of  every  man's  individual 
being, — and  he  had  no  liking  for  "  monastic  "  immurements. 
But  he  longed  for  liberty, — liberty  to  go  where  he  liked 
without  his  movements  being  watched  and  commented  upon 
by  a  degraded  "  personal  "  press, — liberty  to  speak  as  he  felt 
and  do  as  he  wished,  without  being  compelled  to  weigh  his 
words,  or  to  consider  his  actions.  Hence — he  had  decided 
on  his  present  course,  though  how  that  course  was  likely  to 
shape  itself  in  its  progress  he  had  no  very  distinct  idea.  His 
actual  plan  was  to  walk  to  Cornwall,  and  there  find  out  the 
native  home  of  his  parents,  not  so  much  for  sentiment's  sake 
as  for  the  necessity  of  having  a  definite  object  or  goal  in 
•view.  And  the  reason  of  his  determination  to  go  "  on  the 
road,"  as  it  were,  was  simply  that  he  wished  to  test  for  him- 
self the  actual  happiness  or  misery  experienced  by  the  very 
poor  as  contrasted  with  the  supposed  joys  of  the  very 
wealthy.  This  scheme  had  been  working  in  his  brain  for 
the  past  year  or  more, — all  his  business  arrangements  had 
"been  made  in  such  a  way  as  to  enable  him  to  carry  it  out 
satisfactorily  to  himself  without  taking  any  one  else  into  his 
confidence.  The  only  thing  that  might  possibly  have  deter- 
red him  from  his  quixotic  undertaking  would  have  been  the 
moral  triumph  of  Lucy  Sorrel  over  the  temptation  he  had 
held  out  to  her.  Had  she  been  honest  to  her  better  woman- 
hood,— had  she  still  possessed  the  "  child's  heart,"  with 
which  his  remembrance  and  imagination  had  endowed  her, 
he  would  have  resigned  every  other  thought  save  that  of  so 
smoothing  the  path  of  life  for  her  that  she  might  tread  it 
easily  to  the  end.  But  now  that  she  had  disappointed  him, 
he  had,  so  he  told  himself,  done  with  fine  illusions  and  fair 
"beliefs  for  ever.  And  he  had  started  on  a  lonely  quest, — a 
search  for  something  vague  and  intangible,  the  very  nature 
of  which  he  himself  could  not  tell.  Some  glimmering  ghost 
of  a  notion  lurked  in  his  mind  that  perhaps,  during  his  self- 
imposed  solitary  ramblings,  he  might  find  some  new  and 
unexplored  channel  wherein  his  vast  wealth  might  flow  to 
good  purpose  after  his  death,  without  the  trammels  of  Com- 
mittee-ism and  Red-Tape-ism.  But  he  expected  and  formu- 
lated nothing, — he  was  more  or  less  in  a  state  of  quiescence, 
awaiting  adventures  without  either  hope  or  fear.  In  the 
meantime,  here  he  sat  in  the  shady  Somersetshire  lane,  rest- 
ing,— the  multi-millionaire  whose  very  name  shook  the 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        59 

money-markets  of  the  world,  but  who  to  all  present  appear- 
ances seemed  no  more  than  a  tramp,  footing  it  wearily  along 
one  of  the  many  winding"  "  short  cuts  "  through  the  country 
between  Somerset  and  Devon,  and  as  unlike  the  actual  self 
of  him  as  known  to  Lombard  Street  and  the  Stock  Exchange 
as  a  beggar  is  unlike  a  king. 

"After  all,  it's  quite  as  interesting  as  '  big  game '  shoot- 
ing !  "  he  said,  the  smile  still  lingering  in  his  eyes.  "  I  am 
after  '  sport/ — in  a  novel  fashion !  I  am  on  the  look-out  for 
new  specimens  of  men  and  women, — real  honest  ones !  I 
may  find  them, — I  may  not, — but  the  search  will  surely  prove 
at  least  as  instructive  and  profitable  as  if  one  went  out  to 
the  Arctic  regions  for  the  purpose  of  killing  innocent  polar 
bears!  Change  and  excitement  are  what  every  one  craves 
for  nowadays — I'm  getting  as  much  as  I  want — in  my  own 
way !  " 

He  thought  over  the  whole  situation,  and  reviewed  with 
a  certain  sense  of  interest  and  amusement  his  method  of 
action  since  he  left  London.  Benson,  his  valet,  had  packed 
his  portmanteau,  according  to  orders,  with  everything  that 
was  necessary  for  a  short  sea  trip,  and  then  had  seen  him  off 
at  the  station  for  Southampton, — and  to  Southampton  he 
had  gone.  Arrived  there,  he  had  proceeded  to  a  hotel, 
where,  under  an  assumed  name,  he  had  stayed  the  night. 
The  next  day  he  had  left  Southampton  for  Salisbury  by 
train,  and  there  staying  another  night,  had  left  again  for 
Bath  and  Bristol.  On  the  latter  journey  he  had  "  tipped  " 
the  guard  heavily  to  keep  his  first-class  compartment  re- 
served to  himself.  This  had  been  done ;  and  the  train  being 
an  express,  stopping  at  very  few  stations,  he  had  found  leis- 
ure and  opportunity  to  unpack  his  portmanteau  and  cut  away 
every  mark  on  his  linen  and  other  garments  which  could 
give  the  slightest  clue  to  their  possessor.  When  he  had 
removed  all  possible  trace  of  his  identity  on  or  in  this  one 
piece  of  luggage,  he  packed  it  up  again,  and  on  reaching 
Bristol,  took  it  to  the  station's  cloak-room,  and  there  de- 
posited it  with  the  stated  intention  of  calling  back  for  it  at  the 
hour  of  the  next  train  to  London.  This  done,  he  stepped 
forth  untrammelled,  a  free  man.  He  had  with  him  five 
hundred  pounds  in  bank-notes,  and  for  a  day  or  so  was  con- 
tent to  remain  in  Bristol  at  one  of  the  best  hotels,  under  an 
assumed  name  as  before,  while  privately  making  such  other 
preparations  for  his  intended  long  "  tramp  "  as  he  thought 


60        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

necessary.  In  one  of  the  poorest  quarters  of  the  town  he 
purchased  a  few  second-hand  garments  such  as  might  be 
worn  by  an  ordinary  day-labourer,  saying  to  the  dealer  that 
he  wanted  to  "  rig  out "  a  man  who  had  just  left  hospital 
and  who  was  going  in  for  "  field  "  work.  The  dealer  saw 
nothing  either  remarkable  or  suspicious  in  this  seemingly 
benevolent  act  of  a  kindly-looking  well-dressed  old  gentle- 
man, and  sent  him  the  articles  he  had  purchased  done  up  in 
a  neat  package  and  addressed  to  him  at  his  hotel,  by  the 
name  he  had  for  the  time  assumed.  When  he  left  the  hotel 
for  good,  he  did  so  with  nothing  more  than  this  neat  pack- 
age, which  he  carried  easily  in  one  hand  by  a  loop  of  string. 
And  so  he  began  his  journey,  walking  steadily  for  two  or 
three  hours, — then  pausing  to  rest  awhile, — and  after  rest, 
going  on  again.  Once  out  of  Bristol  he  was  glad,  and  at 
certain  lonely  places,  when  the  shadows  of  night  fell,  he 
changed  all  his  garments  one  by  one  till  he  stood  trans- 
formed as  now  he  was.  The  clothes  he  was  compelled  to 
discard  he  got  rid  of  by  leaving  them  in  unlikely  holes  and 
corners  on  the  road, — as  for  example,  at  one  place  he  filled 
the  pockets  of  his  good  broadcloth  coat  with  stones  and 
dropped  it  into  the  bottom  of  an  old  disused  well.  The 
curious  sense  of  guilt  he  felt  when  he  performed  this  inno- 
cent act  surprised  as  well  as  amused  him. 

"  It  is  exactly  as  if  I  had  murdered  somebody  and  had 
sunk  a  body  into  the  well  instead  of  a  coat !  "  he  said — 
"  and — perhaps  I  have !  Perhaps  I  am  killing  my  Self, — 
getting  rid  of  my  Self, — which  would  be  a  good  thing,  if  I 
could  only  find  Some  one  or  Some  thing  better  than  my  Self 
in  my  Self's  place !  " 

When  he  had  finally  disposed  of  every  article  that  could 
suggest  any  possibility  of  his  ever  having  been  clothed  as  a 
gentleman,  he  unripped  the  lining  of  his  rough  "  work- 
man's "  vest,  and  made  a  layer  of  the  bank-notes  he  had  with 
him  between  it  and  the  cloth,  stitching  it  securely  over  and 
over  with  coarse  needle  and  thread,  being  satisfied  by  this 
arrangement  to  carry  all  his  immediate  cash  hidden  upon  his 
person,  while  for  the  daily  needs  of  hunger  and  thirst  he  had 
a  few  loose  shillings  and  coppers  in  his  pocket.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  not  to  touch  a  single  one  of  the  bank- 
notes, unless  suddenly  overtaken  by  accident  or  illness. 
When  his  bit  of  silver  and  copper  came  to  an  end,  he  meant 
to  beg  alms  along  the  road  and  prove  for  himself  how  far 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        61 

it  was  true  that  human  beings  were  in  the  main  kind  and 
compassionate,  and  ready  to  assist  one  another  in  the  battle 
of  life.  With  these  ideas  and  many  others  in  his  mind,  he 
started  on  his  "  tramp  " — and  during  the  first  two  or  three 
days  of  it  suffered  acutely.  Many  years  had  passed  since 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  long  sustained  bodily  exercise, 
and  he  was  therefore  easily  fatigued.  But  by  the  time  he 
reached  the  open  country  between  the  Quantocks  and  the 
Brendon  Hills,  he  had  got  somewhat  into  training,  and  had 
begun  to  feel  a  greater  lightness  and  ease  as  well  as  pleasure 
in  walking.  He  had  found  it  quite  easy  to  live  on  very  sim- 
ple food, — in  fact  one  of  the  principal  charms  of  the  strange 
"  holiday  "  he  had  planned  for  his  own  entertainment  was 
to  prove  for  himself  beyond  all  dispute  that  no  very  large 
amount  of  money  is  required  to  sustain  a  man's  life  and 
health.  New  milk  and  brown  bread  had  kept  him  going 
bravely  every  day, — fruit  was  cheap  and  so  was  cheese,  and 
all  these  articles  of  diet  are  highly  nourishing,  so  that  he  had 
wanted  for  nothing.  At  night,  the  weather  keeping  steadily 
fine  and  warm,  he  had  slept  in  the  open,  choosing  some  quiet 
nook  in  the  woodland  under  a  tree,  or  else  near  a  haystack 
in  the  fields,  and  he  had  benefited  greatly  by  thus  breathing 
the  pure  air  during  slumber,  and  getting  for  nothing  the 
"  cure  "  prescribed  by  certain  Artful  Dodgers  of  the  medical 
profession  who  take  handfuls  of  guineas  from  credulous 
patients  for  what  Mother  Nature  willingly  gives  gratis. 
And  he  was  beginning  to  understand  the  joys  of  "  loaf- 
ing,"— so  much  so  indeed  that  he  felt  a  certain  sympathy 
with  the  lazy  varlet  who  prefers  to  stroll  aimlessly  about 
the  country  begging  his  bread  rather  than  do  a  stroke  of 
honest  work.  The  freedom  of  such  a  life  is  self-evident, — 
and  freedom  is  the  broadest  and  best  way  of  breathing  on 
earth.  To  "  tramp  the  road  "  seems  to  the  well-dressed, 
Conventional  human  being  a  sorry  life ;  but  it  may  be  ques- 
tioned whether,  after  all,  he  with  his  social  trammels  and 
household  cares,  is  not  leading  a  sorrier  one.  Never  in  all 
his  brilliant,  successful  career  till  now  had  David  Helmsley, 
that  king  of  modern  finance,  realised  so  intensely  the  beauty 
and  peace  of  being  alone  with  Nature, — the  joy  of  feeling 
the  steady  pulse  of  the  Spirit  of  the  Universe  throbbing 
through  one's  own  veins  and  arteries, — the  quiet  yet  ex- 
ultant sense  of  knowing  instinctively  beyond  all  formulated 
theory  or  dogma,  that  one  is  a  vital  part  of  the  immortal 


62        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Entity,  as  indestructible  as  Itself.  And  a  great  calm  was 
gradually  taking  possession  of  his  soul, — a  smoothing  of  all 
the  waves  of  his  emotional  and  nervous  temperament. 
Under  this  mystic  touch  of  unseen  and  uncomprehended 
heavenly  tenderness,  all  sorrows,  all  disappointments,  all 
disillusions  sank  out  of  sight  as  though  they  had  never  been. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  put  away  his  former  life  for 
ever,  and  that  another  life  had  just  begun, — and  his  brain 
was  ready  and  eager  to  rid  itself  of  old  impressions  in  order 
to  prepare  for  new.  Nothing  of  much  moment  had  oc- 
curred to  him  as  yet.  A  few  persons  had  said  "  good-day  "  or 
"  good-night "  to  him  in  passing, — a  farmer  had  asked  him 
to  hold  his  horse  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  which  he  had 
done,  and  had  thereby  earned  threepence, — but  he  had  met 
with  no  interesting  or  exciting  incidents  which  could  come 
under  the  head  of  "  adventures."  Nevertheless  he  was  gath- 
ering fresh  experiences, — experiences  which  all  tended  to 
show  him  how  the  best  and  brightest  part  of  life  is  foolishly 
wasted  and  squandered  by  the  modern  world  in  a  mad  rush 
for  gain. 

"  So  very  little  money  really  suffices  for  health,  content- 
ment, and  harmless  pleasure !  "  he  thought.  "  The  secret  of 
our  growing  social  mischief  does  not  lie  with  the  natural 
order  of  created  things,  but  solely  with  ourselves.  We  will 
not  set  any  reasonable  limit  to  our  desires.  If  we  would, 
we  might  live  longer  and  be  far  happier ! " 

He  stretched  out  his  limbs  easefully,  and  dropped  into  a 
reclining  posture.  The  tree  he  had  chosen  to  rest  under 
was  a  mighty  elm,  whose  broad  branches,  thick  with  leaves, 
formed  a  deep  green  canopy  through  which  the  sunbeams 
filtered  in  flecks  and  darts  of  gold.  A  constant  twittering 
of  birds  resounded  within  this  dome  of  foliage,  and  a  thrush 
whistled  melodious  phrases  from  one  of  the  highest  boughs. 
At  his  feet  was  spread  a  carpet  of  long  soft  moss,  inter- 
spersed with  wild  thyme  and  groups  of  delicate  harebells, 
and  the  rippling  of  a  tiny  stream  into  a  hollow  cavity  of 
stones  made  pleasant  and  soothing  music.  Charmed  with 
the  tranquillity  and  loveliness  of  his  surroundings,  he  de- 
termined to  stay  here  for  a  couple  of  hours,  reading,  and 
perhaps  sleeping,  before  resuming  his  journey.  He  had  in 
his  pocket  a  shilling  edition  of  Keats's  poems  which  he 
had  bought  in  Bristol  by  way  of  a  silent  companion  to  his 
thoughts,  and  he  took  it  out  and  opened  it  now,  reading 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        63 

and  re-reading  some  of  the  lines  most  dear  and  familiar  to 
hirn,  when,  as  a  boy,  he  had  elected  this  poet,  so  wickedly 
done  to  death  ere  his  prime  by  commonplace  critics,  as  one 
of  his  chief  favourites  among  the  highest  Singers.  And 
his  lips,  half-murmuring,  followed  the  verse  which  tells 
of  that 

"  untrodden  region  of  the  mind, 
Where  branched  thoughts,  new-grown  with  pleasant  pain, 

Instead  of  pines,  shall  murmur  in  the  wind; 
Far,  far  around  shall  these  dark  clustered  trees, 

Fledge  the  wild  ridged  mountains  steep  by  steep, 
And  there  by  zephyrs,  streams,  and  birds  and  bees, 

The  moss-lain  Dryads  shall  be  lulled  to  sleep ; 
And  in  the  midst  of  this  wide  quietness, 

A  rosy  sanctuary  will  I  dress 
With  the  wreathed  trellis  of  a  working  brain, 

With  buds  and  bells  and  stars  without  a  name, 
With  all  the  gardener  Fancy  e'er  could  feign, 

Who,  breeding  flowers,  will  never  breed   the   same ; 
And  there  shall  be  for  thee  all  soft  delight, 

That  shadowy  thought  can  win, 
A  bright  torch  and  a  casement  ope  at  night, 

To  let  the  warm  Love  in ! " 

A  slight  sigh  escaped  him. 

"  How  perfect  is  that  stanza !  "  he  said.  "  How  I  used 
to  believe  in  all  it  suggested !  And  how,  when  I  was  a 
young  man,  my  heart  was  like  that  '  casement  ope  at  night, 
to  let  the  warm  Love  in ! '  But  Love  never  came, — only  a 
spurious  will-o'-the-wisp  imitation  of  Love.  I  wonder  if 
many  people  in  this  world  are  not  equally  deceived  with 
myself  in  their  conceptions  of  this  divine  passion?  All  the 
poets  and  romancists  may  be  wrong, — and  Lucy  Sorrel,  with 
her  hard  materialism  encasing  her  youth  like  a  suit  of  steel 
armour,  may  be  right.  Boys  and  girls  '  love,'  so  they  say,— - 
men  and  women  '  love '  and  marry — and  with  marriage,  the 
wondrous  light  that  led  them  on  and  dazzled  them,  seems, 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  to  suddenly  expire !  Taking  myself 
as  an  example,  I  cannot  say  that  actual  marriage  made  me 
happy.  It  was  a  great  disillusion ;  a  keen  disappointment. 
The  birth  of  my  sons  certainly  gave  me  some  pleasure  as 
well  as  latent  hope,  for  as  little  children  they  were  lovable 
and  lovely ;  but  as  boys — as  men — what  bitterness  they 
brought  me  !  Were  they  the  heirs  of  Love  ?  Nay ! — surely 
Love  never  generated  such  callous  hearts !  They  were  the 
double  reflex  of  their  mother's  nature,  grasping  all  and  giv- 


64        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

ing  nothing.  Is  there  no  such  virtue  on  earth  as  pure  un- 
selfish Love? — love  that  gives  itself  freely,  unasked,  with- 
out hope  of  advantage  or  reward — and  without  any  per- 
sonal motive  lurking  behind  its  offered  tenderness  ?  " 

He  turned  over  the  pages  of  the  book  he  held,  with  a 
vague  idea  that  some  consoling  answer  to  his  thoughts 
would  flash  out  in  a  stray  line  or  stanza,  like  a  beacon  light- 
ing up  the  darkness  of  a  troubled  sea.  But  no  such  cheer- 
ing word  met  his  eyes.  Keats  is  essentially  the  poet  of  the 
young,  and  for  the  old  he  has  no  comfort.  Sensuous,  pas- 
sionate, and  almost  cloying  in  the  excessive  sweetness  of 
his  amorous  muse,  he  offers  no  support  to  the  wearied 
spirit, — no  sense  of  strength  or  renewal  to  the  fagged  brain. 
He  does  not  grapple  with  the  hard  problems  of  life ;  and  his 
mellifluous  murmurings  of  delicious  fantasies  have  no  place 
in  the  poignant  griefs  and  keen  regrets  of  those  who  have 
passed  the  meridian  of  earthly  hopes,  and  who  see  the 
shadows  of  the  long  night  closing  in.  And  David  Helms- 
ley  realised  this  all  suddenly,  with  something  of  a  pang. 

"  I  am  too  old  for  Keats,"  he  said  in  a  half-whisper  to 
the  leafy  branches  that  bowed  their  weight  of  soft  green 
shelteringly  over  him.  "  Too  old !  Too  old  for  a  poet  in 
whose  imaginative  work  I  used  to  take  such  deep  delight. 
There  is  something  strange  in  this,  for  I  cherished  a  belief 
that  fine  poetry  would  fit  every  time  and  every  age,  and  that 
no  matter  how  heavy  the  burden  of  years  might  be,  I  should 
always  be  able  to  forget  myself  and  my  sorrows  in  a  poet's 
immortal  creations.  But  I  have  left  Keats  behind  me.  He 
was  with  me  in  the  sunshine, — he  does  not  follow  me  into 
the  shade." 

A  cloud  of  melancholy  darkened  his  worn  features,  and 
he  slowly  closed  the  book.  He  felt  that  it  was  from  hence- 
forth a  sealed  letter.  For  him  the  half-sad,  half-scornful 
musings  of  Omar  Khayyam  were  more  fitting,  such  as  the 
lines  that  run  thus: — 

"  Fair  wheel  of  heaven,  silvered  with  many  a  star, 
Whose  sickly  arrows  strike  us  from  afar, 
Never  a  purpose  to  my  soul  was  dear, 
But  heaven  crashed  down  my  little  dream  to  mar. 

Never  a  bird  within  my  sad  heart  sings 
But  heaven  a  flaming  stone  of  thunder  flings; 
O  valiant  wheel !     O  most  courageous  heaven, 
To  leave  me  lonely  with  the  broken  wings ! " 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        65 

A  stinging  pain,  as  of  tears  that  rose  but  would  not  fall, 
troubled  his  eyes.  He  passed  his  hand  across  them,  and 
leaned  back  against  the  sturdy  trunk  of  the  elm  which  served 
him  for  the  moment  as  a  protecting  haven  of  rest.  The 
gentle  murmur  of  the  bees  among  the  clover,  the  soft  sub- 
dued twittering  of  the  birds,  and  the  laughing  ripple  of  the 
little  stream  hard  by,  all  combined  to  make  one  sweet  mono- 
tone of  sound  which  lulled  his  senses  to  a  drowsiness  that 
gradually  deepened  into  slumber.  He  made  a  pathetic  figure 
enough,  lying  fast  asleep  there  among  the  wilderness  of 
green, — a  frail  and  apparently  very  poor  old  man,  adrift 
and  homeless,  without  a  friend  in  the  world.  The  sun  sank, 
and  a  crimson  after-glow  spread  across  the  horizon  from 
west  to  east,  the  rich  colours  flung  up  from  the  centre  of  the 
golden  orb  merging  by  slow  degrees  into  that  pure  pearl- 
grey  which  marks  the  long  and  lovely  summer  twilight  of 
English  skies.  The  air  was  very  still,  not  so  much  as  the 
rumble  of  a  distant  cart  wheel  disturbing  the  silence.  Pres- 
ently, however,  the  slow  shuffle  of  hesitating  footsteps 
sounded  through  the  muffling  thickness  of  the  dust,  and  a 
man  made  his  appearance  on  the  top  of  the  little  rising 
where  the  lane  climbed  up  into  a  curve  of  wild-rose  hedge 
and  honeysuckle  which  almost  hid  the  actual  road  from 
view.  He  was  not  a  prepossessing  object  in  the  landscape; 
short  and  squat,  unkempt  and  dirty,  and  clad  in  rough  gar- 
ments which  were  almost  past  hanging  together,  he  looked 
about  as  uncouth  and  ugly  a  customer  as  one  might  expect 
to  meet  anywhere  on  a  lonely  road  at  nightfall.  He  carried 
a  large  basket  on  his  back,  seemingly  full  of  weeds, — the 
rope  which  supported  it  was  tied  across  his  chest,  and  he 
clasped  this  rope  with  both  hands  crossed  in  the  middle, 
after  the  fashion  of  a  praying  monk.  Smoking  a  short 
black  pipe,  he  trudged  along,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground  with  steady  and  almost  surly  persistence,  till  arriving 
at  the  tree  where  Helmsley  lay,  he  paused,  and  lifting  his 
head  stared  long  and  curiously  at  the  sleeping  man.  Then, 
unclasping  his  hands,  he  lowered  his  basket  to  the  ground 
and  set  it  down.  Stealthily  creeping  close  up  to  Helmsley 's 
side,  he  examined  the  prone  figure  from  head  to  foot  with 
quick  and  eager  scrutiny.  Spying  the  little  volume  of  Keats 
on  the  grass  where  it  had  dropped  from  the  slumberer's 
relaxed  hand,  he  took  it  up  gingerly,  turning  over  its  pages 
with  grimy  thumb  and  finger. 


66        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Portry !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  Glory  be  good  to  me !  'E's 
a  reg'ler  noddy  none-such !  An'  measly  old  enuff  to  know 
better!" 

He  threw  the  book  on  the  grass  again  with  a  sniff  of  con- 
tempt. At  that  moment  Helmsley  stirred,  and  opening  his 
eyes  fixed  them  full  and  inquiringly  on  the  lowering  face 
above  him. 

"  'Ullo,  gaffer !  Woke  up,  'ave  yer  ?  "  said  the  man  gruf- 
fly. "Offyerlay?" 

Helmsley  raised  himself  on  one  elbow,  looking  a  trifle 
dazed. 

"  Off  my  what  ? "  he  murmured.  "  I  didn't  quite  hear 
you " 

"  Oh  come,  stow  that !  "  said  the  man.  "  You  dunno 
what  I'm  talkin'  about;  that's  plain  as  a  pike.  You  aint 
used  to  the  road!  Where  d'ye  come  from?" 

"  I've  walked  from  Bristol,"  he  answered — "And  you're 
quite  right, — I'm  not  used  to  the  road." 

The  man  looked  at  him  and  his  hard  face  softened.  Push- 
ing back  his  tattered  cap  from  his  brows  he  showed  his 
features  more  openly,  and  a  smile,  half  shrewd,  half  kindly, 
made  them  suddenly  pleasant. 

"Av  coorse  you're  not !  "  he  declared.  "  Glory  be  good 
to  me!  I've  tramped  this  bit  o'  road  for  years,  an'  never 
come  across  such  a  poor  old  chuckle-headed  gammer  as  you 
sleepin'  under  a  tree  afore !  Readin'  portry  an'  droppin'  to 
by-by  over  it !  The  larst  man  as  iver  I  saw  a'  readin'  portry 
was  wh'at  they  called  a  '  Serious  Sunday '  man,  an'  'e's  doin' 
time  now  in  Portland." 

Helmsley  smiled.  He  was  amused ; — his  "  adventures," 
he  thought,  were  beginning.  To  be  called  "  a  poor  old 
chuckle-headed  gammer  "  was  a  new  and  almost  delightful 
experience. 

"  Portland's  an  oncommon  friendly  place,"  went  on  his 
uninvited  companion.  "  Once  they  gits  ye,  they  likes  ye  to 
stop.  'Taint  like  the  fash'nable  quality  what  says  to  their 
friends :  '  Do-ee  come  an'  stay  wi'  me,  loveys ! '  wishin'  all 
the  while  as  they  wouldn't.  Portland  takes  ye  willin', 
whether  ye  likes  it  or  not,  an'  keeps  ye  so  fond  that  ye  can't 
git  away  nohow.  Oncommon  'ospitable  Portland  be !  " 

And  he  broke  into  a  harsh  laugh.  Then  he  glanced 
at  Helmsley  again  with  a  more  confiding  and  favour- 
able eye. 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        67 

"  Ye  seems  a  'spectable  sort,"  he  said.  "  What's  .wrong 
wi'  ye  ?  Out  o'  work  ?  " 

Helmsley  nodded. 

"Turned  off,  eh?    Too  old?" 

"  That's  about  it !  "  he  answered. 

"  Well,  ye  do  look  a  bit  of  a  shivery-shake, — a  kind  o*  not- 
long-for-this-world,"  said  the  man.  "  Howsomiver,  we'se 
be  all  'elpless  an'  'omeless  soon,  for  the  Lord  hisself  don't 
stop  a  man  growin'  old,  an'  under  the  new  ways  o'  the  world, 
it's  a  reg'lar  crime  to  run  past  forty.  I'm  sixty,  an'  I  gits 
my  livin'  my  own  way,  axin'  nobody  for  the  kind  permission. 
That's  my  fortin !  " 

And  he  pointed  to  the  basket  of  weedy  stuff  which  he 
had  just  set  down.  Helmsley  looked  at  it  with  some 
curiosity. 

"What's  in  it? "he  asked. 

"  What's  in  it?  What's  not  in  it! "  And  the  man  gave 
a  gesture  of  mingled  pride  and  defiance.  "  There's  all  what 
the  doctors  makes  their  guineas  out  of  with  their  purr-escrip- 
tions,  for  they  can't  purr-escribe  no  more  than  is  in  that 
there  basket  without  they  goes  to  minerals.  An'  minerals 
is  rank  poison  to  ivery  'uman  body.  But  so  far  as  'erbs  an' 
seeds,  an'  precious  stalks  an'  flowers  is  savin'  grace  for  man 
an'  beast,  Matthew  Peke's  got  'em  all  in  there.  An'  Mat- 
thew Peke  wouldn't  be  the  man  he  is,  if  he  didn't  know 
where  to  find  'em  better'n  any  livin'  soul  iver  born !  Ah ! — 
an'  there  aint  a  toad  in  a  hole  hoppin'  out  between  Quan- 
tocks  an'  Cornwall  as  hasn't  seen  Matthew  Peke  gatherin' 
the  blessin'  an'  health  o'  the  fields  at  rise  o'  sun  an'  set  o' 
moon,  spring,  summer,  autumn,  ay,  an'  even  winter,  all  the 
year  through ! " 

Helmsley  became  interested. 

"And  you  are  the  man !  "  he  said  questioningly — "  You 
are  Matthew  Peke  ?  " 

"I  am !  An'  proud  so  ter  be !  An'  you — 'ave  yer  got  a 
name  for  the  arskin'  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly ! "  And  Helmsley's  pale  face  flushed. 
"  My  name  is  David." 

"  Chrisen  name  ?     Surname  ?  " 

"  Both." 

Matthew  Peke  shook  his  head. 

"  'Twon't  fadge !  "  he  declared.  "  It  don't  sound  right. 
It's  like  th'  owld  Bible  an'  the  Book  o'  Kings  where  there's 


68        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

nowt  but  Jews ;  an'  Jews  is  the  devil  to  pay  wheriver  you 
finds  'em !  " 

"  I'm  not  a  Jew,"  said  Helmsley,  smiling-. 

"Mebbe  not — mebbe  not — but  yer  name's  awsome  like  it. 
An'  if  ye  put  it  short,  like  D.  David,  that's  just  Damn  David 
an'  nothin'  plainer.  Aint  it  ?  " 

Helmsley  laughed. 

"  Exactly !  "  he  said — "  You're  right !  Damn  David  suits 
me  down  to  the  ground  !  " 

Peke  looked  at  him  dubiously,  as  one  who  is  not  quite 
sure  of  his  man. 

"  You're  a  rum  old  sort !  "  he  said ;  "  an'  I  tell  ye  what  it 
is — you're  as  tired  as  a  dog  limpin'  on  three  legs  as  has 
nipped  his  fourth  in  a  weasel-trap.  Wheer  are  ye  goin' 
onto?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Helmsley — "  I'm  a  stranger 
to  this  part  of  the  country.  But  I  mean  to  tramp  it  to  the 
nearest  village.  I  slept  out  in  the  open  yesterday, — I  think 
I'd  like  a  shelter  over  me  to-night." 

"  Got  any  o'  the  King's  pictures  about  ye  ?  "  asked  Peke. 

Helmsley  looked,  as  he  felt,  bewildered. 

"The  King's  pictures?"  he  echoed — "You  mean ?" 

"  This !  "  and  Peke  drew  out  of  his  tattered  trouser  pocket 
a  dim  and  blackened  sixpence — "  'Ere  'e  is,  as  large  as  life, 
a  bit  bald  about  the  top  o'  'is  blessed  old  'ead,  Glory  be  good 
to  'im,  but  as  useful  as  if  all  'is  'air  was  still  a  blowin'  an'  a 
growin'!  Aint  that  the  King's  picture,  D.  David?  Don't 
it  say  'Edwardus  VII.  D.  G.  Britt.,'  which  means  Edward 
the  Seventh,  thanks  be  to  God  Britain?  Don't  it?" 

"  It  do  \  "  replied  Helmsley  emphatically,  taking  a  fan- 
tastic pleasure  in  the  bad  grammar  of  his  reply.  "  I've  got 
a  few  more  pictures  of  the  same  kind,"  and  he  took  out  two 
or  three  loose  shillings  and  pennies — "  Can  we  get  a  night's 
lodging  about  here  for  that  ?  " 

"Av  coorse  we  can !  I'll  take  ye  to  a  place  where  ye'll  be 
as  welcome  as  the  flowers  in  May  with  Matt  Peke  in- 
terroducin'  of  ye.  Two  o'  them  thank-God  Britts  in 
silver  will  set  ye  up  wi'  a  plate  o'  wholesome  food  an'  a 
clean  bed  at  the  'Trusty  Man.'  It's  a  pub,  but  Miss 
Tranter  what  keeps  it  is  an  old  maid,  an'  she's  that  proud 
o'  the  only  '  Trusty  Man '  she  ever  'ad  that  she  calls  it 
an  'Otel!" 

He  grinned  good-humouredly  at  what  he  considered  his 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        69 

own  witticism  concerning1  the  little  weakness  of  Miss  Tran- 
ter, and  proceeded  to  shoulder  his  basket. 

"You  aint  proud,  are  ye?"  he  said,  as  he  turned  his  fer- 
ret-brown eyes  on  Helmsley  inquisitively. 

Helmsley,  who  had,  quite  unconsciously  to  himself,  drawn 
up  his  spare  figure  in  his  old  habitual  way  of  standing  very 
erect,  with  that  composed  air  of  dignity  and  resolution  which 
those  who  knew  him  personally  in  business  were  well  accus- 
tomed to,  started  at  the  question. 

"  Proud !  "  he  exclaimed — "  I  ?  What  have  I  to  be  proud 
of?  I'm  the  most  miserable  old  fellow  in  the  world,  my 
friend!  You  may  take  my  word  for  that!  There's  not  a 
soul  that  cares  a  button  whether  I  live  or  die !  I'm  seventy 
years  of  age — out  of  work,  and  utterly  wretched  and  friend- 
less !  Why  the  devil  should  /  be  proud  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  ye  never  was  proud  in  yer  life,  ye  can  be  now," 
said  Peke  condescendingly,  "  for  I  tell  ye  plain  an'  true  that 
if  Matt  Peke  walks  with  a  tramp  on  this  road,  every  one 
round  the  Quantocks  knows  as  how  that  tramp  aint  alto- 
gether a  raskill!  I've  took  ye  up  on  trust  as  'twere,  likin' 
yer  face  for  all  that  it's  thin  an'  mopish, — an'  steppin'  in  wi' 
me  to  the  'Trusty  Man'  will  mebbe  give  ye  a  character. 
Anyways,  I'll  do  my  best  for  ye ! " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Helmsley  simply. 

Again  Peke  looked  at  him,  and  again  seemed  troubled. 
Then,  stuffing  his  pipe  full  of  tobacco,  he  lit  it  and  stuck  it 
sideways  between  his  teeth. 

"  Now  tome  along !  "  he  said.  "  You're  main  old,  but  ye 
must  put  yer  best  foot  foremost  all  the  same.  We've  more'n 
an  hour's  trampin'  up  hill  an'  down  dale,  an'  the  dew's  be- 
ginnin'  to  fall.  Keep  goin'  slow  an'  steady — I'll  give  ye  a 
hand." 

For  a  moment  Helmsley  hesitated.  This  shaggy,  rough, 
uncouth  herb-gatherer  evidently  regarded  him  as  very  feeble 
and  helpless,  and,  out  of  a  latent  kindliness  of  nature, 
wished  to  protect  him  and  see  him  to  some  safe  shelter  for 
the  night.  Nevertheless,  he  hated  the  position.  Old  as  he 
knew  himself  to  be,  he  resented  being  pitied  for  his  age, 
while  his  mind  was  yet  so  vigorous  and  his  heart  felt  still  so 
warm  and  young.  Yet  the  commonplace  fact  remained  that 
he  was  very  tired, — very  worn  out,  and  conscious  that  only 
a  good  rest  would  enable  him  to  continue  his  journey  with 
comfort.  Moreover,  his  experiences  at  the  "  Trusty  Man  " 


70        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

might  prove  interesting.  It  was  best  to  take  what  came  in 
his  way,  even  though  some  episodes  should  possibly  turn 
out  less  pleasing  than  instructive.  So  putting  aside  all 
scruples,  he  started  to  walk  beside  his  ragged  comrade  of 
the  road,  finding,  with  some  secret  satisfaction,  that  after  a 
few  paces  his  own  step  was  light  and  easy  compared  to  the 
heavy  shuffling  movement  with  which  Peke  steadily  trudged 
along.  Sweet  and  pungent  odours  of  the  field  and  wood- 
land floated  from  the  basket  of  herbs  as  it  swung  slightly  to 
and  fro  on  its  bearer's  shoulders,  and  amid  the  slowly  dark- 
ening shadows  of  evening,  a  star  of  sudden  silver  brilliance 
sparkled  out  in  the  sky. 

"  Yon's  the  first  twinkler,"  said  Peke,  seeing  it  at  once, 
though  his  gaze  was  apparently  fixed  on  the  ground.  "  The 
love-star's  allus  up  early  o'  nights  to  give  the  men  an'  maids 
a  chance ! " 

"Yes, — Venus  is  the  evening  star  just  now,"  rejoined 
Helmsley,  half-absently. 

"  Stow  Venus !  That's  a  reg'lar  fool's  name,"  said  Peke 
surlily.  "  Where  did  ye  git  it  from  ?  That  aint  no  Venus, — 
that's  just  the  love-star,  an'  it'll  be  nowt  else  in  these  parts 
till  the  world-without-end-amen !  " 

Helmsley  made  no  answer.  He  walked  on  patiently,  his 
limbs  trembling  a  little  with  fatigue  and  nervous  exhaustion. 
But  Peke's  words  had  started  the  old  dream  of  his  life  again 
into  being, — the  latent  hope  within  him,  which  though  often 
half-killed,  was  not  yet  dead,  flamed  up  like  newly  kindled 
vital  fire  in  his  mind, — and  he  moved  as  in  a  dream,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  darkening  heavens  and  the  brightening  star. 


CHAPTER     VI 

THEY  plodded  on  together  side  by  side  for  some  time  in 
unbroken  silence.  At  last,  after  a  short  but  stiff  climb  up  a 
rough  piece  of  road  which  terminated  in  an  eminence  com- 
manding a  wide  and  uninterrupted  view  of  the  surrounding 
Country,  they  paused.  The  sea  lay  far  below  them,  dimly 
covered  by  the  gathering  darkness,  and  the  long  swish  and 
roll  of  the  tide  could  be  heard  sweeping  to  and  from 
the  shore  like  the  grave  and  graduated  rhythm  of  organ 
music. 

"  We'd  best  'ave  a  bit  of  a  jabber  to  keep  us  goin',"  said 
Peke,  then — "  Jabberin'  do  pass  time,  as  the  wimin  can  prove 
t'  ye;  an'  arter  such  a  jumblegut  lane  as  this,  it'll  seem  less 
lonesome.  We're  off  the  main  road  to  towns  an'  sich  like — 
this  is  a  bye,  an'  'ere  it  stops.  We'll  'ave  to  git  over  yon 
stile  an'  cross  the  fields — 'taint  an  easy  nor  clean  way,  but 
it's  the  best  goin'.  We'll  see  the  lights  o'  the  '  Trusty  Man  * 
just  over  the  brow  o'  the  next  hill." 

Helmsley  drew  a  long  breath,  and  sat  down  on  a  stone 
by  the  roadside.  Peke  surveyed  him  critically. 

"  Poor  old  gaffer !  Knocked  all  to  pieces,  aint  ye !  Not 
used  to  the  road  ?  Glory  be  good  to  me !  I  should  think 
ye  wornt !  Short  in  yer  wind  an'  wreak  on  yer  pins !  I'd  as 
soon  see  my  old  grandad  trampin'  it  as  you.  Look  'ere! 
Will  ye  take  a  dram  out  o'  this  'ere  bottle  ?  " 

He  held  up  the  bottle  he  spoke  of, — it  was  black,  and 
untemptingly  dirty.  Yet  there  was  such  a  good-natured  ex- 
pression in  the  man's  eyes,  and  so  much  honest  solicitude 
written  on  his  rough  bearded  face,  that  Helmsley  felt  it 
would  be  almost  like  insulting  him  to  refuse  his  invitation. 

"  Tell  me  what's  in  it  first!  "  he  said,  smiling. 

"  'Taint  whisky,"  said  Peke.  "And  'taint  brandy  neither. 
Nor  rum.  Nor  gin.  Nor  none  o'  them  vile  stuffs  which 
brewers  makes  as  arterwards  goes  to  Parl'ment  on  the 
profits  of  'avin'  poisoned  their  consti/ooants.  'Tis  nowt 
but  just  yerb  wine." 

"  Yerb  wine?     Wine  made  of  herbs?" 

71 


72        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  That's  it !  'Erbs  or  yerbs — I  aint  pertikler  which — I  sez 
both.  This," — and  he  shook  the  bottle  he  held  vigorously — 
"  is  genuine  yerb  wine — an'  made  as  I  makes  it,  what  do  the 
Wise  One  say  of  it  ?  'E  sez : — '  It  doth  strengthen  the  heart 
of  a  man  mightily,  and  refresheth  the  brain ;  drunk  fasting, 
it  braceth  up  the  sinews  and  maketh  the  old  feel  young ;  it  is 
of  rare  virtue  to  expel  all  evil  humours,  and  if  princes  should 
drink  of  it  oft  it  would  be  but  an  ill  service  to  the  world,  as 
they  might  never  die ! ' ' 

Peke  recited  these  words  slowly  and  laboriously;  it  was 
evident  that  he  had  learned  them  by  heart,  and  that  the 
effort  of  remembering  them  correctly  was  more  or  less  pain- 
ful to  him. 

Helmsley  laughed,  and  stretched  out  his  hand. 
"Give  it  over  here!"  he  said.     "It's  evidently  just  the 
.'Stuff  for  me.     How  much  shall  I  take  at  one  go  ?  " 

Peke  uncorked  the  precious  fluid  with  care,  smelt  it,  and 
nodded  appreciatively. 

"  Swill    it    all    if    ye    like,"    he    remarked    graciously. 

'  'Twont  hurt  ye,  an'  there's  more  where  that  came  from. 

It's  cheap  enuff,  too — nature  don't  keep  it  back  from  no 

man.     On'y  there  aint  a  many  got  sense  enuff  to  thank  the 

S^ord  when  it's  offered." 

f*  As  he  thus  talked,  Helmsley  took  the  bottle  from  him  and 
tasted  its  contents.  The  "  yerb  wine  "  was  delicious.  More 
grateful  to  his  palate  than  Chambertin  or  Clos  Vougeot,  it 
warmed  and  invigorated  him,  and  he  took  a  long  draught, 
Matthew  Peke  watching  him  drink  it  with  great  satisfaction. 
"  Let  the  yerbs  run  through  yer  veins  for  two  or  three 
minits,  an'  ye'll  step  across  yon  fields  as  light  as  a  bird 
'oppin'  to  its  nest,"  he  declared.  "  Talk  o'  tonics, — there's 
more  tonic  in  a  handful  o'  green  stuff  growin'  as  the  Lord 
makes  it  to  grow,  than  all  the  purr-escriptions  what's  sent 
out  o'  them  big  'ouses  in  'Arley  Street,  London,  where  the 
doctors  sits  from  ten  to  two  like  spiders  waitin'  for  flies,  an' 
gatherin'  in  the  guineas  for  lookin'  at  fools'  tongues.  Glory 
be  good  to  me!  If  all  the  world  were  as  sick  as  it's  silly, 
there'd  be  nowt  wantin'  to  't  but  a  grave  an'  a  shovel !  " 

Helmsley  smiled,  and  taking  another  pull  at  the  black 
bottle,  declared  himself  much  better  and  ready  to  go  on. 
iHe  was  certainly  refreshed,  and  the  weary  aching  of  his 
limbs  which  had  made  every  step  of  the  road  painful  and 
difficult  to  him,  was  gradually  passing  off. 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        73 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  he  said,  as  he  returned  the 
remainder  of  the  "  yerb  wine  "  to  its  owner.  "  I  wonder 
why?" 

Peke  took  a  draught  of  his  mixture  before  replying. 
Then  corking  the  bottle,  he  thrust  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  Ye  wonders  why  ?  "  And  he  uttered  a  sound  between 
a  grunt  and  a  chuckle — "  Ye  may  do  that !  I  wonders 
myself !  " 

And,  giving  his  basket  a  hitch,  he  resumed  his  slow 
trudging  movement  onward. 

"  You  see,"  pursued  Helmsley,  keeping  up  the  pace  beside 
him,  and  beginning  to  take  pleasure  in  the  conversation — 
"  I  may  be  anything  or  anybody " 

"  Ye  may  that,"  agreed  Peke,  his  eyes  fixed  as  usual  on 
the  ground.  "  Ye  may  be  a  jail-bird  or  a  missioner, — 
they'se  much  of  a  muchity,  an'  goes  on  the  road  lookin'  quite 
simple  like,  an'  the  simpler  they  seems  the  deeper  they  is. 
White  'airs  an'  feeble  legs  'elps  'em  along  considerable, — 
nowt's  better  stock-in-trade  than  tremblin'  shins.  Or  ye 
might  be  a  War-office  neglect, — ye  looks  a  bit  set  that  way." 

"  What's  a  War-office  neglect  ? "  asked  Helmsley, 
laughing. 

"  One  o'  them  totterin'  old  chaps  as  was  in  the  Light 
Brigade,"  answered  Peke.  "  There's  no  end  to  'em. 
They'se  all  over  every  road  in  the  country.  All  of  'em 
fought  wi'  Lord  Cardigan,  an'  all  o'  'em's  driven  to  starve 
by  an  ungrateful  Gov'ment.  They  won't  be  all  dead  an' 
gone  till  a  hundred  years  'as  rolled  away,  an'  even  then  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  one  or  two  was  still  left  on  the  tramp 
a-pipin'  his  little  'arf-a-league  onard  tale  o'  woe  to  the  first 
softy  as  forgits  the  date  o'  the  battle."  Here  he  gave  an 
inquisitive  side-glance  at  his  companion.  "  But  you  aint 
quite  o'  the  Balaclava  make  an'  colour.  Yer  shoulders  is 
millingterry,  but  yer  'ead  is  business.  Ye  might  be  a  gen- 
tleman if  'twornt  for  yer  clothes." 

Helmsley  heard  this  definition  of  himself  without 
flinching. 

"  I  might  be  a  thief,"  he  said — "  or  an  escaped  convict. 
You've  been  kind  to  me  without  knowing  whether  I  am  one 
or  the  other,  or  both.  And  I  want  to  know  why  ?  " 

Peke  stopped  in  his  walk.  They  had  come  to  the  stile  over 
which  the  way  lay  across  the  fields,  and  he  rested  himself 
and  his  basket  for  a  moment  against  it. 


74        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Why  ?  "  he  repeated, — then  suddenly  raising  one  hand, 
he  whispered,  "  Listen !  Listen  to  the  sea !  " 

The  evening  had  now  almost  closed  in,  and  all  around 
them  the  country  lay  dark  and  solitary,  broken  here  and 
there  by  tall  groups  of  trees  which  at  night  looked  like  sable 
plumes,  standing  stiff  and  motionless  in  the  stirless  summer 
air.  Thousands  of  stars  flashed  out  across  this  blackness, 
throbbing  in  their  orbits  with  a  quick  pulsation  as  of  uneasy 
hearts  beating  with  nameless  and  ungratified  longing.  And 
through  the  tense  silence  came  floating  a  long,  sweet,  pas- 
sionate cry, — a  shivering  moan  of  pain  that  touched  the 
edge  of  joy, — a  song  without  words,  of  pleading  and  of 
prayer,  as  of  a  lover,  who,  debarred  from  the  possession  of 
the  beloved,  murmurs  his  mingled  despair  and  hope  to  the 
unsubstantial  dream  of  his  own  tortured  soul.  The  sea  was 
calling  to  the  earth, — calling  to  her  in  phrases  of  eloquent 
and  urgent  music, — caressing  her  pebbly  shores  with  wind- 
ing arms  of  foam,  and  showering  kisses  of  wild  spray  against 
her  rocky  bosom.  "  If  I  could  come  to  thee !  If  thou 
couldst  come  to  me !  "  was  the  burden  of  the  waves, — the 
ceaseless  craving  of  the  finite  for  the  infinite,  which  is,  and 
ever  shall  be,  the  great  chorale  of  life.  The  shuddering 
sorrow  of  that  low  rhythmic  boom  of  the  waters  rising  and 
falling  fathoms  deep  under  cliffs  which  the  darkness  veiled 
from  view,  awoke  echoes  from  the  higher  hills  around,  and 
David  Helmsley,  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  countless  planet- 
worlds  sprinkled  thick  as  flowers  in  the  patch  of  sky  imme- 
diately above  him,  suddenly  realised  with  a  pang  how  near 
he  was  to  death, — how  very  near  to  that  final  drop  into  the 
unknown  where  the  soul  of  man  is  destined  to  find  All  or 
Nothing!  He  trembled, — not  with  fear, — but  with  a  kind 
of  anger  at  himself  for  having  wasted  so  much  of  his  life. 
What  had  he  done,  with  all  his  toil  and  pains?  He  had 
gathered  a  multitude  of  riches.  Well,  and  then?  Then, — 
why  then,  and  now,  he  had  found  riches  but  vain  getting. 
Life  and  Death  were  still,  as  they  have  always  been,  the  two 
supreme  Facts  of  the  universe.  Life,  as  ever,  asserted  itself 
with  an  insistence  demanding  something  far  more  enduring 
than  the  mere  possession  of  gold,  and  the  power  which  gold 
brings.  And  Death  presented  its  unwelcome  aspect  in  the 
same  perpetual  way  as  the  Last  Recorder  who,  at  the  end 
of  the  day,  closes  up  accounts  with  a  sum-total  paid  exactly 
in  proportion  to  the  work  done.  No  more,  and  no  less. 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        75 

And  with  Helmsley  these  accounts  were  reaching  a  figure 
against  which  his  whole  nature  fiercely  rebelled, — the  figure 
of  Nought,  showing  no  value  in  his  life's  efforts  or  its  re- 
sults. And  the  sound  of  the  sea  to-night  in  his  ears  was 
more  full  of  reproach  than  peace. 

"  When  the  water  moans  like  that,"  said  Peke  softly, 
under  his  breath,  "  it  seems  to  me  as  if  all  the  tongues  of 
drowned  sailors  'ad  got  into  it  an'  was  beggin'  of  us  not  to 
forget  'em  lyin'  cold  among  the  shells  an'  weed.  An'  not 
only  the  tongues  o'  them  seems  a-speakin'  an'  a-cryin',  but 
all  the  stray  bones  o'  them  seems  to  rattle  in  the  rattle  o'  the 
foam.  It  goes  through  ye  sharp,  like  a  knife  cuttin'  a  sour 
apple ;  an'  it's  made  me  wonder  many  a  time  why  we  was  all 
put  'ere  to  git  drowned  or  smashed  or  choked  off  or  beat 
down  somehows  just  when  we  don't  expect  it.  Howsom- 
iver,  the  Wise  One  sez  it's  all  right !  " 

"And  who  is  the  Wise  One  ?  "  asked  Helmsley,  trying  to 
rouse  himself  from  the  heavy  thoughts  engendered  in  his 
mind  by  the  wail  of  the  sea. 

"  The  Wise  One  was  a  man  what  wrote  a  book  a  'underd 
years  ago  about  'erbs,"  said  Peke.  "  'The  Way  o'  Long 
Life'  it's  called,  an'  my  father  an'  grandfather  and  great- 
grandfather afore  'em  'ad  the  book,  an'  I've  got  it  still, 
though  I  shows  it  to  nobody,  for  nobody  but  me  wouldn't 
unnerstand  it.  My  father  taught  me  my  letters  from  it,  an' 
I  could  spell  it  out  when  I  was  a  kid — I've  growed  up  on  it, 
an'  it's  all  I  ever  reads.  It's  'ere  " — and  he  touched  his 
ragged  vest.  "  I  trusts  it  to  keep  me  goin'  'ale  an'  'arty  till 
I'm  ninety, — an'  that's  drawin'  it  mild,  for  my  father  lived 
till  a  'underd,  an'  then  on'y  went  through  slippin'  on  a  wet 
stone  an'  breakin'  a  bone  in  'is  back ;  an'  my  grandfather 
saw  'is  larst  Christmas  at  a  'underd  an'  ten,  an'  was  up  to 
kissin'  a  wench  under  the  mistletoe,  'e  was  sich  a  chirpin' 
old  gamecock.  'E  didn't  look  no  older'n  you  do  now,  an' 
you're  a  chicken  compared  to  'im.  You've  wore  badly  like, 
not  knowin'  the  use  o'  yerbs." 

"  That's  it !  "  said  Helmsley,  now  following  his  companion 
over  the  stile  and  into  the  dark  dewy  fields  beyond — "  I 
need  the  advice  of  the  Wise"  One !  Has  he  any  remedy  for 
old  age,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"Ay,  now  there  ye  treads  on  my  fav'rite  corn !  "  and  Peke 
shook  his  head  with  a  curious  air  of  petulance.  "  That's 
what  I'm  a-lookin'  for  day  an'  night,  for  the  Wise  One  'as 


76       THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

got  a  bit  in  'is  book  which  'e's  cropped  out  o'  another  Wise 
One's  sayin's, — a  chap  called  Para-Cel-Sus  " — and  Peke 
pronounced  this  name  in  three  distinct  and  well-divided 
syllables.  "An'  this  Nis  what  it  is :  '  Take  the  leaves  of  the 
Daura,  which  prevent  those  who  use  it  from  dying  for  a 
hundred  and  twenty  years.  In  the  same  way  the  flower  of 
the  secta  croa  brings  a  hundred  years  to  those  who  use  it, 
whether  they  be  of  lesser  or  of  longer  age.'  I've  been  on 
the  'unt  for  the  '  Daura '  iver  since  I  was  twenty,  an'  I've 
arskt  ivery  'yerber  I've  ivir  met  for  the  'Secta  Croa,'  an'  all 
I've  'ad  sed  to  me  is  '  Go  'long  wi'  ye  for  a  loony  jackass ! 
There  aint  no  sich  thing.'  But  jackass  or  no,  I'm  of  a  mind 
to  think  there  is  such  things  as  both  the  '  Daura '  an'  the 
'  Secta  Croa,'  if  I  on'y  knew  the  English  of  'em.  An' 
s'posin'  I  ivir  found  'em " 

"  You  would  become  that  most  envied  creature  of  the 
present  age, — a  millionaire,"  said  Helmsley ;  "  you  could 
command  your  own  terms  for  the  wonderful  leaves, — you 
would  cease  to  tramp  the  road  or  to  gather  herbs,  and  you 
would  live  in  luxury  like  a  king !  " 

"  Not  I !  " — and  Peke  gave  a  grunt  of  contempt.  "  Kings 
aint  my  notion  of  'appiness  nor  'onesty  neither.  They  does 
things  often  for  which  some  o'  the  poor  'ud  be  put  in  quod, 
an'  no  mercy  showed  'em,  an'  yet  'cos  they're  kings  they 
gits  off.  An'  I  aint  great  on  millionaires  neither.  They'se 
mis'able  ricketty  coves,  all  gone  to  pot  in  their  in'ards 
through  grubbin'  money  an'  eatin'  of  it  like,  till  ivery  other 
kind  o'  food  chokes  'em.  There's  a  chymist  in  London  what 
pays  me  five  shillings  an  ounce  for  a  little  green  yerb  I 
knows  on,  cos'  it's  the  on'y  med'cine  as  keeps  a  millionaire 
customer  of  'is  a-goin'.  I  finds  the  yerb,  an'  the  chymist 
gits  the  credit.  I  gits  five  shillin',  an'  the  chymist  gits  a 
guinea.  That's  all  right !  /  don't  mind !  I  on'y  gathers, — 
the  chymist,  'e's  got  to  infuse  the  yerb,  distil  an'  bottle  it. 
I'm  paid  my  price,  an  'e's  paid  'is.  All's  fair  in  love  an' 
war!" 

He  trudged  on,  his  footsteps  now  rendered  almost  noise- 
less by  the  thick  grass  on  which  he  trod.  The  heavy  dew 
sparkled  on  every  blade,  and  here  and  there  the  pale  green 
twinkle  of  a  glow-worm  shone  like  a  jewel  dropped  from 
a  lady's  gown.  Helmsley  walked  beside  his  companion  at 
an  even  pace, — the  "  yerb  wine "  had  undoubtedly  put 
strength  in  him  and  he  was  almost  unconscious  of  his  former 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        77 

excessive  fatigue.  He  was  interested  in  Peke's  "  jabber," 
and  wondered,  somewhat  enviously,  why  such  a  man  as 
this,  rough,  ragged,  and  uneducated,  should  seem  to  possess 
a  contentment  such  as  he  had  never  known. 

"  Millionaires  is  gin'rally  fools,"  continued  Peke ;  "  they 
buys  all  they  wants,  an'  then  they  aint  got  nothin'  more  to 
live  for.  They  gits  into  motor-cars  an'  scours  the  country, 
but  they  never  sees  it.  They  never  'ears  the  birds  singin', 
an'  they  misses  all  the  flowers.  They  never  smells  the  vi'lets 
nor  the  mayblossom — they  on'y  gits  their  own  petrol  stench 
wi'  the  flavour  o'  the  dust  mixed  in.  Larst  May  I  was 
a-walkin'  in  the  lanes  o'  Devon,  an'  down  the  'ill  comes  a 
motor-car  tearin'  an'  scorchin'  for  all  it  was  worth,  an'  bang 
went  somethin'  at  the  bottom  o'  the  thing,  an'  it  stops  sud- 
dint.  Out  jumps  a  French  chauffy,  parly vooin'  to  hisself, 
an'  out  jumps  the  man  what  owns  it  an'  takes  off  his  gog- 
gles. '  This  is  Devonshire,  my  man  ? '  sez  'e  to  me.  '  It 
is,'  I  sez  to  'im.  An'  then  the  cuckoo  started  callin'  away 
over  the  trees.  '  What's  that  ? '  sez  'e  lookin'  startled  like. 
'  That's  the  cuckoo,'  sez  I.  An'  he  takes  off  'is  'at  an'  rubs 
'is  'ead,  which  was  a'  fast  goin'  bald.  '  Dear,  dear  me ! ' 
sez  'e — '  I  'aven't  'card  the  cuckoo  since  I  was  a  boy ! '  An' 
he  rubs  'is  'ead  again,  an'  laughs  to  hisself — '  Not  since 
I  was  a  boy ! '  'e  sez.  '  An'  that's  the  cuckoo,  is  it  ?  Dear, 
dear  me ! '  '  You  'aven't  bin  much  in  the  country  p'r'aps  ?  ' 
sez  I.  '  I'm  always  in  the  country,'  'e  sez — '  I  motor  every- 
where, but  I've  missed  the  cuckoo  somehow ! '  An'  then 
the  chauffy  puts  the  machine  right,  an'  he  jumps  in  an' 
gives  me  a  shillin'.  '  Thank-ye,  my  man  ! '  sez  'e — Tm  glad 
you  told  me  'twas  a  real  cuckoo ! '  Hor — er — hor — er — 
hor— er !  "  And  Peke  gave  vent  to  a  laugh  peculiarly  his 
own.  "  Mebbe  'e  thought  I'd  got  a  Swiss  clock  with  a  sham 
cuckoo  workin'  it  in  my  basket !  '  I'm  glad,'  sez  'e,  '  you 
told  me  'twas  a  real  cuckoo ! '  Hor — er — hor — er — 
hor— er!" 

The  odd  chuckling  sounds  of  merriment  which  were 
slowly  jerked  forth  as  it  were  from  Peke's  husky  wind- 
pipe, were  droll  enough  in  themselves  to  be  somewhat 
infectious,  and  Helmsley  laughed  as  he  had  not  done  for 
many  days. 

"  Ay,  there's  a  mighty  sight  of  tringum-trangums  an' 
nonsense  i'  the  world,"  went  on  Peke,  still  occasionally  giv- 
ing vent  to  a  suppressed  "  Hor — er — hor  " — "  an'  any 


78        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

amount  o'  Tom  Conys  what  don't  know  a  real  cuckoo  from 
a  sham  un'.  Glory  be  good  to  me !  Think  o'  the  numskulls 
as  goes  in  for  pendlecitis!  There's  a  fine  name  for  ye! 
Pendlecitis!  Hor — er — hor!  All  the  fash'nables  'as  got 
it,  an'  all  the  doctors  'as  their  knives  sharpened  an'  ready 
to  cut  off  the  remains  o'  the  tail  we  'ad  when  we  was  all 
'appy  apes  together !  Hor — er — hor !  An'  the  bit  o'  tail  's 
curled  up  in  our  in'ards  now  where  it  ain't  got  no  business 
to  be.  Which  shows  as  'ow  Natur'  don't  know  'ow  to  do 
it,  seein'  as  if  we  'adn't  wanted  a  tail,  she'd  a'  took  it  sheer 
off  an'  not  left  any  behind.  But  the  doctors  thinks  they 
knows  a  darn  sight  better'n  Natur',  an'  they'll  soon  be  givin' 
lessons  in  the  makin'  o'  man  to  the  Lord  A'mighty  hisself  I 
Hor — er — hor!  Pendlecitis!  That's  a  precious  monkey's 
tail,  that  there!  In  my  grandfather's  day  we  didn't  'ear 
'bout  no  monkey's  tails, — 'twas  just  a  chill  an'  inflammation 
o'  the  in'ards,  an'  a  few  yerbs  made  into  a  tea  an'  drunk  'ot 
fastin',  cured  it  in  twenty-four  hours.  But  they've  so 
many  new-fangled  notions  nowadays,  they've  forgot  all  the 
old  'uns.  There's  the  cancer  illness, — people  goes  off  all 
over  the  country  now  from  cancer  as  never  used  to  in 
my  father's  day,  an'  why  ?  'Cos  they'se  gittin'  too  wise  for 
Nature's  own  cure.  Nobody  thinks  o'  tryin'  agrimony, — 
water  agrimony — some  calls  it  water  hemp  an'  bastard  agri- 
mony— 'tis  a  thing  that  flowers  in  this  month  an'  the  next, 
— a  brown-yellow  blossom  on  a  purple  stalk,  an'  ye  find  it 
in  cold  places,  in  ponds  an'  ditches  an'  by  runnin'  waters. 
Make  a  drink  of  it,  an'  it'll  mend  any  cancer,  if  'taint  too 
far  gone.  An'  a  cancer  that's  outside  an'  not  in,  'ull  clean 
away  beautiful  wi'  the  'elp  o'  red  clover.  Even  the  juice 
o'  nettles,  which  is  common  enough,  drunk  three  times  a 
day  will  kill  any  germ  o'  cancer,  while  it'll  set  up  the  blood 
as  fresh  an'  bright  as  iver.  But  who's  a-goin'  to  try  com- 
mon stuff  like  nettles  an'  clover  an'  water  hemp,  when  there's 
doctors  sittin'  waitin'  wi'  knives  an'  wantin'  money  for  cuttin' 
up  their  patients  an'  'urryin'  'em  into  kingdom-come  afore 
their  time !  Glory  be  good  to  me !  What  wi'  doctors  an' 
'omes  an'  nusses,  an'  all  the  fuss  as  a  sick  man  makes  about 
hisself  in  these  days,  I'd  rather  be  as  I  am,  Matt  Peke, 
a-wanderin'  by  hill  an'  dale,  an'  lyin'  down  peaceful  to  die 
under  a  tree  when  my  times  comes,  than  take  any  part  wi' 
the  pulin'  cowards  as  is  afraid  o'  cold  an'  fever  an'  wet 
feet  an'  the  like,  just  as  if  they  was  poor  little  shiverin'  mice 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        79 

instead  o'  men.  Take  'em  all  round,  the  wimin's  the 
bravest  at  bearin'  pain, — they'll  smile  while  they'se  burnin' 
so  as  it  sha'n't  ill-convenience  anybody.  Wonderful  suf- 
ferers, is  wimin !  " 

"  Yet  they  are  selfish  enough  sometimes,"  said  Helmsley, 
quickly. 

"  Selfish  ?  Wheer  was  ye  born,  D.  David  ?  "  queried  Peke 
— "  An'  what  wimin  'ave  ye  know'd  ?  Town  or  country  ?  " 

Helmsley  was  silent. 

"  Arsk  no  questions  an'  ye'll  be  told  no  lies ! "  commented 
Peke,  with  a  chuckle.  "  I  sees !  Ye've  bin  a  gay  old 
chunk  in  yer  time,  mebbe !  An'  it's  the  wimin  as  goes  in 
for  gay  old  chunks  as  ye've  made  all  yer  larnin  of.  But 
they  ain't  wimin — not  as  the  country  knows  'em.  Country 
wimin  works  all  day  an'  as  often  as  not  dandles  a  babby 
all  night, — they've  not  got  a  minnit  but  what  they  aint 
a-troublin'  an'  a-worryin'  'bout  'usband  or  childer,  an'  their 
faces  is  all  writ  over  wi'  the  curse  o'  the  garden  of  Eden. 
Selfish  ?  They  aint  got  the  time !  Up  at  cock-crow,  scrub- 
bin'  the  floors,  washin'  the  babies,  feedin'  the  fowls  or  the 
pigs,  peelin'  the  taters,  makin'  the  pot  boil,  an'  tryin'  to 
make  out  'ow  twelve  shillin's  an'  sixpence  a  week  can  be 
made  to  buy  a  pound's  worth  o'  food,  trapsin'  to  market, 
an'  wonderin'  whether  the  larst  born  in  the  cradle  aint 
somehow  got  into  the  fire  while  mother's  away, — 'opin'  an' 
prayin'  for  the  Lord's  sake  as  'usband  don't  come  'ome 
blind  drunk, — where's  the  room  for  any  selfishness  in  sich 
a  life  as  that? — the  life  lived  by  'undreds  o'  wimin  all  over 
this  'ere  blessed  free  country  ?  Ger  'long  wi'  ye,  D.  David ! 
Old  as  y'  are,  ye  'ad  a  mother  in  yer  time, — an'  I'll  take  my 
Gospel  oath  there  was  a  bit  o'  good  in  'er !  " 

Helmsley  stopped  abruptly  in  his  walk.' 

"  You  are  right,  man !  "  he  said,  "  And  I  am  wrong ! 
You  know  women  better  than  I  do,  and — you  give  me  a 
lesson !  One  is  never  too  old  to  learn," — and  he  smiled  a 
rather  pained  smile.  "  But — I  have  had  a  bad  experience !  " 

"  Well,  if  y'ave  'ad  it  ivir  so  bad,  yer  'xperience  aint  every- 
one's,"  retorted  Peke.  "  If  one  fly  gits  into  the  soup,  that 
don't  argify  that  the  hull  pot  's  full  of  'em.  An'  there's 
more  good  wimin  than  bad — takin'  'em  all  round  an'  in- 
cludin'  'op  pickers,  gypsies  an'  the  like.  Even  Miss  Tranter 
aint  wantin'  in  feelin',  though  she's  a  bit  sour  like,  owin' 
to  'avin  missed  a  'usband  an'  all  the  savin"  worrity  wear-an- 


80        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

tear  a  'usband  brings,  but  she  aint  arf  bad.  Yon's  the  lamp 
of  'er  '  Trusty  Man  '  now." 

A  gleam  of  light,  not  much  larger  than  the  glitter  of  one 
of  the  glow-worms  in  the  grass,  was  just  then  visible  at  the 
end  of  the  long  field  they  were  traversing. 

"  That's  an  old  cart-road  down  there  wheer  it  stands," 
continued  Peke.  "  As  bad  a  road  as  ivir  was  made,  but 
it  runs  straight  into  Devonshire,  an'  it's  a  good  place  for 
a  pub.  For  many  a  year  'twornt  used,  bein'  so  rough  an' 
ready,  but  now  there's  such  a  crowd  o'  motors  tearin,  over 
Countisbury  '111,  the  carts  takes  it,  keepin'  more  to  their- 
selves  like,  an'  savin'  smashin'.  Miss  Tranter  she  knew 
what  she  was  a-doin'  of  when  she  got  a  licence  an'  opened 
'er  bizniss.  'Twas  a  ramshackle  old  farm-'ouse,  goin'  all 
to  pieces  when  she  bought  it  an'  put  up  'er  sign  o'  the 
'Trusty  Man,'  an'  silly  wenches  round  'ere  do  say  as  'ow 
it's  'aunted,  owin'  to  the  man  as  'ad  it  afore  Miss  Tranter, 
bein'  found  dead  in  'is  bed  with  'is  'ands  a-clutchin'  a  pack 
o'  cards.  An'  the  ace  o'  spades — that's  death — was  turned 
uppermost.  So  they  goes  chatterin'  an'  chitterin'  as  'ow 
the  old  chap  'ad  been  playin'  cards  wi'  the  devil,  an'  got 
a  bad  end.  But  Miss  Tranter,  she  don't  listen  to  maids' 
gabble, — she's  doin'  well,  devil  or  no  devil — an'  if  any  one 
was  to  talk  to  'er  'bout  ghosteses  an'  sich-like,  she'd  wallop 
'em  out  of  'er  bar  with  a  broom  !  Ay,  that  she  would  !  She's 
a  powerful  strong  woman  Miss  Tranter,  an'  many's  the 
larker  what's  felt  'er  'and  on  'is  collar  a-chuckin'  'im  out 
o'  the  '  Trusty  Man  '  neck  an'  crop  for  sayin'  somethin'  what 
aint  ezackly  agreeable  to  'er  feelin's.  She  don't  stand  no 
nonsense,  an'  though  she's  lib'ral  with  'er  pennorths  an' 
pints  she  don't  wait  till  a  man's  full  boozed  'fore  lockin'  up 
the  tap-room.  '  Git  to  bed,  yer  hulkin'  fools ! '  sez  she, 
'  or  ye  may  change  my  'Otel  for  the  Sheriff's.'  An'  they 
all  knuckles  down  afore  'er  as  if  they  was  childer  gettin' 
spanked  by  their  mother.  Ah,  she'd  'a  made  a  grand  wife 
for  a  man !  'E  wouldn't  'ave  'ad  no  chance  to  make  a  pig 
of  hisself  if  she'd  been  anywheres  round !  " 

"  Perhaps  she  won't  take  me  in !  "  suggested  Helmsley. 

"  She  will,  an'  that  sartinly !  "  said  Peke.  "  She'll  not 
refuse  bed  an'  board  to  any  friend  o'  mine." 

"  Friend !  "  Helmsley  echoed  the  word  wonderingly. 

"  Ay,  friend !  Any  one's  a  friend  what  trusts  to  ye  on 
the  road,  aint  'e?  Leastways  that's  'ow  I  take  it." 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        81 

"As  I  said  before,  you  are  very  kind  to  me,"  murmured 
Helmsley ;  "  and  I  have  already  asked  you — Why  ?  " 

"  There  aint  no  rhyme  nor  reason  in  it,"  answered  Peke. 
"  You  'elps  a  man  along  if  ye  sees  'e  wants  'elpin',  sure-/y, 
— that's  nat'ral.  'Tis  on'y  them  as  is  born  bad  as  don't 
'elp  nothin'  nor  nobody.  Ye're  old  an'  fagged  out,  an'  yer 
face  speaks  a  bit  o'  trouble — that's  enuff  for  me.  Hi'  y' 
are !— hi'  y'  are,  old  '  Trusty  Man ! ' ' 

And  striding  across  a  dry  ditch  which  formed  a  kind 
of  entrenchment  between  the  field  and  the  road,  Peke  guided 
his  companion  round  a  dark  corner  and  brought  him  in 
front  of  a  long  low  building,  heavily  timbered,  with  queer 
little  lop-sided  gable  windows  set  in  the  slanting,  red-tiled 
roof.  A  sign-board  swung  over  the  door  and  a  small 
lamp  fixed  beneath  it  showed  that  it  bore  the  crudely  painted 
portrait  of  a  gentleman  in  an  apron,  spreading  out  both 
hands  palms  upwards  as  one  who  has  nothing  to  conceal, 
— the  ideal  likeness  of  the  "  Trusty  Man  "  himself.  The 
door  itself  stood  open,  and  the  sound  of  male  voices  evinced 
the  presence  of  customers  within.  Peke  entered  without 
ceremony,  beckoning  Helmsley  to  follow  him,  and  made 
straight  for  the  bar,  where  a  tall  woman  with  remarkably 
square  shoulders  stood  severely  upright,  knitting. 

"  'Evenin',  Miss  Tranter ! "  said  Peke,  pulling  off  his 
tattered  cap.  "  Any  room  for  poor  lodgers  ?  " 

Miss  Tranter  glanced  at  him,  and  then  at  his  companion. 

"  That  depends  on  the  lodgers,"  she  answered  curtly. 

"That's  right!  That's  quite  right,  Miss!"  said  Peke 
with  propitiatory  deference.  "  You  'se  allus  right  whatso- 
ever ye  does  an'  sez!  But  yer  knows  me, — yer  knows 
Matt  Peke,  don't  yer?" 

Miss  Tranter  smiled  sourly,  and  her  knitting  needles 
glittered  like  crossed  knives  as  she  finished  a  particular 
row  of  stitches  on  which  she  was  engaged  before  conde- 
scending to  reply.  Then  she  said  : — 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  right  enough,  but  I  don't  know  your 
company.  I'm  not  taking  up  strangers." 

"  Lord  love  ye !  This  aint  a  stranger !  "  exclaimed  Peke. 
"  This  'ere's  old  David,  a  friend  o'  mine  as  is  out  o'  work 
through  gittin'  more  years  on  'is  back  than  the  British 
Gov'ment  allows,  an'  Vs  trampin'  it  to  see  'is  relations 
afore  'e  gits  put  to  bed  wi'  a  shovel.  'E's  as  'armless  as  they 
makes  'em,  an'  I've  told  'im  as  'ow  ye'  don't  take  in  nowt 


82        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

but  'spectable  folk.  Doant  'ee  turn  out  an  old  gaffer  like 
'e  be,  fagged  an'  footsore,  to  sleep  in  open — doant  'ee  now, 
there's  a  good  soul !  " 

Miss  Tranter  went  on  kitting  rapidly.  Presently  she 
turned  her  piercing  gimlet  grey  eyes  on  Helmsley. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from,  man  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Helmsley  lifted  his  hat  with  the  gentle  courtesy  habitual 
to  him. 

"  From  Bristol,  ma'am." 

"Tramping  it?" 

"  Yes." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"  To  Cornwall." 

"  That's  a  long  way  and  a  hard  road,"  commented  Miss 
Tranter ;  "  You'll  never  get  there !  " 

Helmsley  gave  a  slight  deprecatory  gesture,  but  said 
nothing. 

Miss  Tranter  eyed  him  more  keenly. 

"  Are  you  hungry  ?  " 

He  smiled. 

"  Not  very !  " 

"  That  means  you're  half-starved  without  knowing  it," 
she  said  decisively.  "  Go  in  yonder,"  and  she  pointed  with 
one  of  her  knitting  needles  to  the  room  beyond  the  bar 
whence  the  hum  of  male  voices  proceeded.  "  I'll  send  you 
some  hot  soup  with  plenty  of  stewed  meat  and  bread  in  it. 
An  old  man  like  you  wants  more  than  the  road  food.  Take 
him  in,  Peke !  " 

"Didn't  I  tell  ye!"  ejaculated  Peke,  triumphantly  look- 
ing round  at  Helmsley.  "  She's  one  that's  got  'er  'art  in 
the  right  place!  I  say,  Miss  Tranter,  beggin'  yer  parding, 
my  friend  aint  a  sponger,  ye  know !  'E  can  pay  ye  a  shillin' 
or  two  for  yer  trouble !  " 

Miss  Tranter  nodded  her  head  carelessly. 

"  The  food's  threepence  and  the  bed  fourpence,"  she  said. 
"  Breakfast  in  the  morning,  threepence, — and  two-pence  for 
the  washing  towel.  That  makes  a  shilling  all  told.  Ale 
and  liquors  extra." 

With  that  she  turned  her  back  on  them,  and  Peke,  pulling 
Helmsley  by  the  arm,  took  him  into  the  common  room  of 
the  inn,  where  there  were  several  men  seated  round  a 
long  oak  table  with  "  gate-legs "  which  must  have  been 
turned  by  the  handicraftsmen  of  the  time  of  Henry  the 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        83 

Seventh.  Here  Peke  set  down  his  basket  of  herbs  in  a  cor- 
ner, and  addressed  the  company  generally. 

'''  'Evenin',  mates !    All  well  an'  'arty  ?  "' 

Three  or  four  of  the  party  gave  gruff  response.  The 
others  sat  smoking  silently.  One  end  of  the  table  was 
unoccupied,  and  to  this  Peke  drew  a  couple  of  rush -bot- 
tomed chairs  with  sturdy  oak  backs,  and  bade  Helmsley 
sit  down  beside  him. 

"  It  be  powerful  warm  to-night !  "  he  said,  taking  off 
his  cap,  and  showing  a  disordered  head  of  rough  dark  hair, 
sprinkled  with  grey.  "  Powerful  warm  it  be  trampin'  the 
road,  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  when  the  dust  lies  thick  and 
'eavy,  an'  all  the  country's  dry  for  a  drop  o'  rain." 

"  Wai,  you  aint  got  no  cause  to  grumble  at  it,"  said  a 
fat-faced  man  in  very  dirty  corduroys.  "  It's  your  chice, 
an'  your  livin'!  You  likes  the  road,  an'  you  makes  your 
grub  on  it !  'Taint  no  use  you  findin'  fault  with  the  gettin' 
o'  your  victuals !  " 

"  Who's  findin'  fault,  Mister  Bubble  ?  "  asked  Peke  sooth- 
ingly. "  I  on'y  said  'twas  powerful  warm." 

"  An'  no  one  but  a  sawny  'xpects  it  to  be  powerful  cold 
in  July,"  growled  Bubble — "  though  some  there  is  an'  some 
there  be  what  cries  fur  snow  in  August,  but  I  aint  one 
on  'em." 

"  No,  'e  aint  one  on  'em,"  commented  a  burly  farmer, 
blowing  away  the  foam  from  the  brim  of  a  tankard 
of  ale  which  was  set  on  the  table  in  front  of  him.  "  'E 
alluz  takes  just  what  cooms  along  easy  loike,  do  Mizter 
Bubble!" 

There  followed  a  silence.  It  was  instinctively  felt  that 
the  discussion  was  hardly  important  enough  to  be  con- 
tinued. Moreover,  every  man  in  the  room  was  conscious 
of  a  stranger's  presence,  and  each  one  cast  a  furtive  glance 
at  Helmsley,  who,  imitating  Peke's  example,  had  taken  off 
his  hat,  and  now  sat  quietly  under  the  flickering  light  of 
the  oil  lamp  which  was  suspended  from  the  middle  of  the, 
ceiling.  He  himself  was  intensely  interested  in  the  turn 
his  wanderings  had  taken.  There  was  a  certain  excitement 
in  his  present  position, — he  was  experiencing  the  "  new  sen- 
sation "  he  had  longed  for, — and  he  realised  it  with  the 
fullest  sense  of  enjoyment.  To  be  one  of  the  richest  men 
in  the  world,  and  yet  to  seem  so  miserably  poor  and  help- 
less as  to  be  regarded  with  suspicion  by  such  a  class  of 


84        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

fellows  as  those  among  whom  he  was  now  seated,  was  de- 
cidedly a  novel  way  of  acquiring  an  additional  relish  for 
the  varying  chances  and  changes  of  life. 

"  Brought  yer  father  along  wi'  ye,  Matt  ? "  suddenly 
asked  a  wizened  little  man  of  about  sixty,  with  a  questioning 
grin  on  his  hard  weather-beaten  features. 

"  I  aint  up  to  'awkin'  dead  bodies  out  o'  their  graves 
yet,  Bill  Bush,"  answered  Peke.  "  Unless  my  old  dad's 
corpsy's  turned  to  yerbs,  which  is  more'n  likely,  I  aint  got 
'im.  This  'ere's  a  friend  o'  mine, — Mister  David — e's  out 
o'  work  through  the  Lord's  speshul  dispensation  an'  rule 
o'  natur — gettin'  old  !  " 

A  laugh  went  round,  but  a  more  favourable  impression 
towards  Peke's  companion  was  at  once  created  by  this  in- 
troduction. 

"  Sorry  for  ye !  "  said  the  individual  called  Bill  Bush, 
nodding  encouragingly  to  Helmsley.  "  I'm  a  bit  that  way 
myself." 

He  winked,  and  again  the  company  laughed.  Bill  was 
known  as  one  of  the  most  daring  and  desperate  poachers 
in  all  the  countryside,  but  as  yet  he  had  never  been  caught 
in  the  act,  and  he  was  one  of  Miss  Tranter's  "  respectable  " 
customers.  But,  truth  to  tell,  Miss  Tranter  had  some  very 
odd  ideas  of  her  own.  One  was  that  rabbits  were  vermin, 
and  that  it  was  of  no  consequence  how  or  by  whom  they 
were  killed.  Another  was  that  "  wild  game  "  belonged  to 
everybody,  poor  and  rich.  Vainly  was  it  explained  to  her 
that  rich  landowners  spent  no  end  of  money  on  breeding  and 
preserving  pheasants,  grouse,  and  the  like, — she  would  hear 
none  of  it. 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense,"  she  said  sharply.  "  The  birds 
breed  by  themselves  quite  fast  enough  if  let  alone, — and  the 
Lord  intended  them  so  to  do  for  every  one's  use  and  eating, 
not  for  a  few  mean  and  selfish  money-grubs  who'd  shoot 
and  sell  their  own  babies  if  they  could  get  game  prices  for 
them !  " 

And  she  had  a  certain  sympathy  with  Bill  Bush  and  his 
nefarious  proceedings.  As  long  as  he  succeeded  in  evad- 
ing the  police,  so  long  would  he  be  welcome  at  the  "  Trusty 
Man,"  but  if  once  he  were  to  be  clapped  into  jail  the  door 
of  his  favourite  "  public  "  would  be  closed  to  him.  Not 
that  Miss  Tranter  was  a  woman  who  "  went  back,"  as  the 
saying  is,  on  her  friends,  but  she  had  to  think  of  her  licence, 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        85 

and  could  not  afford  to  run  counter  to  those  authorities 
who  had  the  power  to  take  it  away  from  her. 

"  I'm  a-shrivellin'  away  for  want  o'  suthin'  to  do,"  pro- 
ceeded Bill.  "  My  legs  aint  no  show  at  all  to  what  they 
once  was." 

And  he  looked  down  at  those  members  complacently. 
They  were  encased  in  brown  velveteens  much  the  worse 
for  wear,  and  in-  shape  resembled  a  couple  of  sticks  with 
a  crook  at  the  knees. 

"  I  lost  my  sitiwation  as  gamekeeper  to  'is  Royal  'Ighness 
the  Dook  o'  Duncy  through  bein'  too  'onest,"  he  went  on 
with  another  wink.  "  'Orful  pertikler,  the  Dook  was, — no- 
buddy  was  'llowed  to  be  'onest  wheer  'e  was  but  'imself! 
Lord  love  ye!  It  don't  do  to  be  straight  an'  square  in  this 
world !  " 

Helmsley  listened  to  this  bantering  talk,  saying  nothing. 
He  was  pale,  and  sat  very  still,  thus  giving  the  impression 
of  being  too  tired  to  notice  what  was  going  on  around  him. 
Peke  took  up  the  conversation. 

"  Stow  yer  gab,  Bill !  "  he  said.  "  When  you  gits  straight 
an'  square,  it'll  be  a  round  'ole  ye'll  'ave  to  drop  into,  mark 
my  wurrd !  An'  no  Dook  o'  Duncy  'ull  pull  ye  out !  This 
'ere  old  friend  o'  mine  don't  unnerstand  ye  wi'  yer  fustian 
an'  yer  galligaskins.  'E's  kinder  eddicated — got  a  bit  o' 
larnin'  as  I  'aves  myself." 

"  Eddicated !  "  echoed  Bill.  "  Eddication's  a  fine  thing, 
aint  it,  if  it  brings  an  old  gaffer  like  'im  to  trampin'  the  road ! 
Seems  to  me  the  more  people's  eddicated  the  less  they's 
able  to  make  a  livin'." 

"  That's  true !  that's  domed  true !  "  said  the  man  named 
Dubble,  bringing  his  great  fist  down  on  the  table  with  a 
force  that  made  the  tankards  jump.  "  My  darter,  she's 
larned  to  play  the  pianner,  an'  I'm  domed  if  she  kin  do  any- 
thin'  else!  Just  a  gillflurt  she  is,  an'  as  sassy  as  a  magpie. 
That's  what  eddication  'as  made  of  'er  an'  be  domed  to  't !  " 

"  'Scuse  me,"  and  Bill  Brush  now  addressed  himself  im- 
mediately to  Helmsley,  "  ef  I  may  be  so  bold  as  to  arsk 
you  wheer  ye  comes  from,  meanin'  no  'arm,  an'  what's  yer 
purfession  ?  " 

Helmsley  looked  up  with  a  friendly  smile. 

"  I've  no  profession  now,"  he  answered  at  once.  "  But 
in  my  time — before  I  got  too  old — I  did  a  good  deal  of 
office  work." 


86        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Office  work !  In  a  'ouse  of  business,  ye  means  ? 
Readin',  'ritin',  'rithmetic,  an'  mebbe  sweepin'  the  floor  at 
odd  times  an'  runnin'  errands  ?  " 

"  That's  it !  "  answered  Helmsley,  still  smiling. 

"  An'  they  won't  'ave  ye  no  more  ?  " 

"  I  am  too  old,"  he  answered  quietly. 

Here  Bubble  turned  slowly  round  and  surveyed  him. 

"How  old  be  ye?" 

"Seventy." 

Silence  ensued.  The  men  glanced  at  one  another.  It 
was  plain  that  the  "  one  touch  of  nature  which  makes  the 
whole  world  kin  "  was  moving  them  all  to  kindly  and  com- 
passionate feeling  for  the  age  and  frail  appearance  of  their 
new  companion.  What  are  called  "  rough  "  and  "  coarse  " 
types  of  humanity  are  seldom  without  a  sense  of  reverence 
and  even  affection  for  old  persons.  It  is  only  among  ultra- 
selfish  and  callous  communities  where  over-luxurious  living 
has  blunted  all  the  finer  emotions,  that  age  is  considered 
a  crime,  or  what  by  some  individuals  is  declared  worse  than 
a  crime,  a  "  bore." 

At  that  moment  a  short  girl,  with  a  very  red  face  and 
round  beady  eyes,  came  into  the  room  carrying  on  a  tray 
two  quaint  old  pewter  tureens  full  of  steaming  soup,  which 
emitted  very  savoury  and  appetising  odours.  Setting  these 
down  before  Matt  Peke  and  Helmsley,  with  two  goodly 
slices  of  bread  beside  them,  she  held  out  her  podgy  hand. 

"  Threepence  each,  please !  " 

They  paid  her,  Peke  adding  a  halfpenny  to  his  three- 
pence for  the  girl  herself,  and  Helmsley,  who  judged  it 
safest  to  imitate  Peke's  behaviour,  doing  the  same.  She 
giggled. 

"  'Ope  you  aint  deprivin'  yourselves !  "  she  said  pertly. 

"  No,  my  dear,  we  aint !  "  retorted  Peke.  "  We  can  afford 
to  treat  ye  like  the  gentlemen  doos !  Buy  yerself  a  ribbin 
to  tie  up  yer  bonnie  brown  'air !  " 

She  giggled  again,  and  waited  to  see  them  begin  their 
meal,  then,  with  a  comprehensive  roll  of  her  round  eyes 
upon  all  the  company  assembled,  she  retired.  The  soup  she 
had  brought  was  certainly  excellent, — strong,  invigorating, 
and  tasty  enough  to  have  done  credit  to  a  rich  man's  table, 
and  Peke  nodded  over  it  with  mingled  surprise  and  ap- 
preciation. 

"  Miss  Tranter  knows  what's  good,  she  do !  "  he  remarked 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        87 

to  Helmsley  in  a  low  tone.  "  She's  cooked  this  up  speshul ! 
This  'ere  broth  aint  flavoured  for  me, — it's  for  you!  Glory 
be  good  to  me  if  she  aint  taken  a  fancy  ter  yer ! — shouldn't 
wonder  if  ye  'ad  the  best  in  the  'ouse !  " 

Helmsley  shook  his  head  demurringly,  but  said  nothing. 
He  knew  that  in  the  particular  position  in  which  he  had 
placed  himself,  silence  was  safer  than  speech. 

Meanwhile,  the  short  beady-eyed  handmaiden  returned 
to  her  mistress  in  the  kitchen,  and  found  that  lady  gazing 
abstractedly  into  the  fire. 

"  They've  got  their  soup,"  she  announced,  "  an'  they're 
eatin'  of  it  up !  " 

"  Is  the  old  man  taking  it  ?  "  asked  Miss  Tranter. 

"  Yes'm.  An'  'e  seems  to  want  it  'orful  bad,  'orful  bad 
'e  do,  on'y  'e  swallers  it  slower  an'  more  soft  like  than  Matt 
Peke  swallers." 

Miss  Tranter  ceased  to  stare  at  the  fire,  and  stared  at  her 
domestic  instead. 

"  Prue,"  she  said  solemnly,  "  that  old  man  is  a  gentle- 
man !  " 

Prue's  round  eyes  opened  a  little  more  roundly. 

"  Lor',  Mis'  Tranter !  " 

"  He's  a  gentleman,"  repeated  the  hostess  of  the  "  Trusty 
Man  "  with  emphasis  and  decision ;  "  and  he's  fallen  on 
bad  times.  He  may  have  to  beg  his  bread  along  the  road 
or  earn  a  shilling  here  and  there  as  best  he  can,  but  noth- 
ing " — and  here  Miss  Tranter  shook  her  forefinger  de- 
fiantly in  the  air — "  nothing  will  alter  the  fact  that  he's  a 
gentleman !  " 

Prue  squeezed  her  fat  red  hands  together,  breathed  hard, 
and  not  knowing  exactly  what  else  to  do,  grinned.  Her 
mistress  looked  at  her  severely. 

"  You  grin  like  a  Cheshire  cat,"  she  remarked.  "  I  wish 
you  wouldn't." 

Prue  at  once  pursed  in  her  wide  mouth  to  a  more  serious 
double  line. 

"  How  much  did  they  give  you  ?  "  pursued  Miss  Tranter. 

"  'Apenny  each,"  answered  Prue. 

"  How  much  have  you  made  for  yourself  to-day  all 
round ! " 

"  Sevenpence  three  fardin's,"  confessed  Prue,  with  an  ap- 
pealing look. 

"  You  know   I  don't  allow  you  to  take  tips   from  my 


88        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

customers,"  went  on  Miss  Tranter.  "  You  must  put  those 
three  farthings  in  my  poor-box." 

"  Yes'm  !  "  sighed  Prue  meekly. 

"  And  then  you  may  keep  the  sevenpence." 

"  Oh  thank  y'  'm !  Thank  y',  Mis'  Tranter !  "  And  Prue 
hugged  herself  ecstatically.-  "  You'se  'orful  good  to  me, 
you  is,  Mis'  Tranter !  " 

Miss  Tranter  stood  a  moment,  an  upright  inflexible  figure, 
surveying  her. 

"  Do  you  say  your  prayers  every  night  and  morning  as 
I  told  you  to  do  ?  " 

Prue  became  abnormally  solemn. 

"  Yes,  I  allus  do,  Mis'  Tranter,  wish  I  may  die  right  'ere 
if  I  don't !  " 

"  What  did  I  teach  you  to  say  to  God  for  the  poor  trav- 
ellers who  stop  at  the  '  Trusty  Man  '  ?  " 

" '  That  it  may  please  Thee  to  succour,  help  and  comfort 
all  that  are  in  danger,  necessity  and  tribulation,  we  beseech 
Thee  to  hear  us  Good  Lord ! '  "  gabbled  Prue,  shutting  her 
eyes  and  opening  them  again  with  great  rapidity. 

"  That's  right !  "  And  Miss  Tranter  bent  her  head  gra- 
ciously. "  I'm  glad  you  remember  it  so  well !  Be  sure  you 
say  it  to-night.  And  now  you  may  go,  Prue." 

Prue  went  accordingly,  and  Miss  Tranter,  resuming  her 
knitting,  returned  to  the  bar,  and  took  up  her  watchful 
position  opposite  the  clock,  there  to  remain  patiently  till 
closing  time. 


CHAPTER     VII 

THE  minutes  wore  on,  and  though  some  of  the  company 
at  the  "  Trusty  Man  "  went  away  in  due  course,  others  came 
in  to  replace  them,  so  that  even  when  it  was  nearing  ten 
o'clock  the  common  room  was  still  fairly  full.  Matt  Peke 
was  evidently  hail-fellow-well-met:  with  many  of  the  loafers 
of  the  district,  and  his  desultory  talk,  with  its  quaint  lean- 
ing towards  a  kind  of  rustic  philosophy  intermingled  with 
an  assumption  of  profound  scientific  wisdom,  appeared  to 
exercise  considerable  fascination  over  those  who  had  the 
patience  and  inclination  to  listen  to  it.  Helmsley  accepted 
a  pipe  of  tobacco  offered  to  him  by  the  surly-looking  Bubble 
and  smoked  peacefully,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  half 
closing  his  eyes  with  a  drowsy  air,  though  in  truth  his  senses 
had  never  been  more  alert,  or  his  interest  more  keenly 
awakened.  He  gathered  from  the  general  conversation  that 
Bill  Bush  was  an  accustomed  night  lodger  at  the  "  Trusty 
Man,"  that  Bubble  had  a  cottage  not  far  distant,  with  a 
scolding  wife  and  an  uppish  daughter,  and  that  it  was  be- 
cause she  knew  of  his  home  discomforts  that  Miss  Tranter 
allowed  him  to  pass  many  of  his  evenings  at  her  inn,  smok- 
ing and  sipping  a  mild  ale,  which  without  fuddling  his 
brains,  assisted  him  in  part  to  forget  for  a  time  his  domestic 
worries.  And  he  also  found  out  that  the  sturdy  farmer 
sedately  sucking  his  pipe  in  a  corner,  and  now  and  then 
throwing  in  an  unexpected  and  random  comment  on  what- 
ever happened  to  be  the  topic  of  conversation,  was  known  as 
"  Feathery  "  Joltram,  though  why  "  Feathery  "  did  not  seem 
very  clear,  unless  the  term  was,  as  it  appeared  to  be,  an 
adaptation  of  "  father  "  or  "  feyther  "  Joltram.  Matt  Peke 
explained  that  old  "  Feathery  "  was  a  highly  respected  char- 
acter in  the  "  Quantocks,"  and  not  only  rented  a  large  farm, 
but  thoroughly  understood  the  farming  business.  More- 
over, that  he  had  succeeded  in  making  himself  somewhat 
of  a  terror  to  certain  timorous  time-servers,  on  account  of 
his  heterodox  and  obstinate  principles.  For  example,  he 
had  sent  his  children  to  school  because  Government  com- 
pelled him  to  do  so,  but  when  their  schooldays  were  over, 

80 


SO        THE     TREASUEE     OF     HEAVEN 

lie  had  informed  them  that  the  sooner  they  forgot  all  they 
had  ever  learned  during  that  period  and  took  to  "  clean 
an'  'olesome  livin',"  the  better  he  should  be  pleased. 

"  For  it's  all  rort  an'  rubbish,"  he  declared,  in  his  broad, 
soft  dialect.  "  I  dozn't  keer  a  tinker's  baad  'apenny  whether 
tha  knaw  'ow  to  'rite  tha  mizchief  or  to  read  it,  or  whether 
king  o'  England  is  eatin'  'umble  pie  to  the  U-nited  States 
top  man,  or  noa, — I  keerz  nawt  aboot  it,  noben  way  or 
t'other.  My  boys  'as  got  to  laarn  draawin'  crops  out  o' 
fields, — an'  my  gels  must  put  'and  to  milkin'  and  skimmin' 
cream  an'  makin'  foinest  butter  as  iver  went  to  market. 
An'  time  comin'  to  wed,  the  boys  'ull  take  strong  dairy 
wives,  an'  the  gels  'ull  pick  men  as  can  thraw  through 
men's  wurrk,  or  they'ze  nay  gels  nor  boys  o'  mine.  Tarlk 
o'  Great  Britain!  Heart  alive!  Wheer  would  th'  owd 
country  be  if  'twere  left  to  pulin'  booky  clerks  what  thinks 
they're  gemmen,  an'  what  weds  niminy-piminy  shop  gels, 
an'  breeds  nowt  but  ricketty  babes  fit  for  workus'  burial! 
Noa,  by  the  Lord!  No  school  larnin'  for  me  nor  mine, 
thank-ee !  Why,  the  marster  of  the  Board  School  'ere  doant 
know  more  practical  business  o'  life  than  a  suckin'  calf! 
With  a  bit  o'  garden  ground  to  'is  cot,  e'  doant  reckon  'ow 
to  till  it,  an'  that's  the  rakelness  o'  book  larnin'.  Noa,  noa ! 
Th'  owd  way  o'  wurrk's  the  best  way, — brain,  'ands,  feet 
an'  good  ztrong  body  all  zet  on't,  an'  no  meanderin'  aff  it ! 
Take  my  wurrd  the  Lord  A'mighty  doant  'elp  corn  to  grow 
if  there's  a  whinin'  zany  ahint  the  plough ! " 

With  these  distinctly  "  out-of-date  "  notions,  "  Feathery  " 
Joltram  had  also  set  himself  doggedly  against  church-going 
and  church  people  generally.  Few  dared  mention  a  clergy- 
man in  his  presence,  for  his  open  and  successful  warfare 
with  the  minister  of  his  own  parish  had  been  going  on 
for  years  and  had  become  well-nigh  traditional.  Looking 
at  him,  however,  as  he  sat  in  his  favourite  corner  of  the 
"  Trusty  Man's "  common  room,  no  one  would  have  given 
him  credit  for  any  particular  individuality.  His  round  red 
face  expressed  nothing, — his  dull  fish-like  eyes  betrayed  no 
intelligence, — he  appeared  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  par- 
ticularly large,  heavy  man,  wedged  in  his  chair  rather  than 
seated  in  it,  and  absorbed  in  smoking  a  long  pipe  after  the 
fashion  of  an  infant  sucking  a  feeding-bottle,  with  infinite 
relish  that  almost  suggested  gluttony. 

The  hum  of  voices  grew  louder  as  the  hour  grew  later^" 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        91 

and  one  or  two  rather  noisy  disputations  brought  Miss 
Tranter  to  the  door.  A  look  of  hers  was  sufficient  to  silence 
all  contention,  and  having  bent  the  warning  flash  of  her 
eyes  impressively  upon  her  customers,  she  retired  as 
promptly  and  silently  as  she  had  appeared.  Helmsley  was 
just  thinking  that  he  would  slip  away  and  get  to  bed,  when 
a  firm  tread  sounded  in  the  outer  passage,  and  a  tall  man, 
black-haired,  black-eyed,  and  of  herculean  build,  suddenly 
looked  in  upon  the  tavern  company  with  a  familiar  nod  and 
smile. 

"  Hullo,  my  hearties !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Is  all  tankards 
drained,  or  is  a  drop  to  spare  ?  " 

A  shout  of  welcome  greeted  him : — "  Tom !  "  "  Tom  o' 
the  Gleam  !  "  "  Come  in,  Tom !  "  "  Drinks  all  round  !  "— 
and  there  followed  a  general  hustle  and  scraping  of  chairs 
on  the  floor, — every  one  seemed  eager  to  make  room  for  the 
newcomer.  Helmsley,  startled  in  a  manner  by  his  appear- 
ance, looked  at  him  with  involuntary  and  undisguisel  ad- 
miration. Such  a  picturesque  figure  of  a  man  he  had  sel- 
dom or  never  seen,  yet  the  fellow  was  clad  in  the  roughest, 
raggedest  homespun,  the  only  striking  and  curious  note 
of  colour  about  him  being  a  knitted  crimson  waistcoat,  which 
instead  of  being  buttoned  was  tied  together  with  two  or 
three  tags  of  green  ribbon.  He  stood  for  a  moment  watch- 
ing the  men  pushing  up  against  one  another  in  order  to  give 
him  a  seat  at  the  table,  and  a  smile,  half-amused,  half- 
ironical,  lighted  up  his  sun-browned,  handsome  face. 

"  Don't  put  yourselves  out,  mates !  "  he  said  carelessly. 
"  Mind  Feathery's  toes ! — if  you  tread  on  his  corns  there'll 
be  the  devil  to  pay !  Hullo,  Matt  Peke !  How  are  you  ?  " 

Matt  rose  and  shook  hands. 

"  All  the  better  for  seein'  ye  again,  Tom,"  he  answered. 
"  Wheer  d'ye  hail  from  this  very  present  minit?  " 

"  From  the  caves  of  Cornwall !  "  laughed  the  man.  "  From 
picking  up  drift  on  the  shore  and  tracking  seals  to  their 
lair  in  the  hollows  of  the  rocks !  "  He  laughed  again,  and 
his  great  eyes  flashed  wildly.  "  All  sport,  Matt !  I  live 
like  a  gentleman  born,  keeping  or  killing  at  my  pleasure!" 

Here  "  Feathery  "  Joltram  looked  up  and  dumbly  pointed 
with  the  stem  of  his  pipe  to  a  chair  left  vacant  near  the 
middle  of  the  table.  Tom  o'  the  Gleam,  by  which  name  he 
seemed  to  be  known  to  every  one  present,  sat  down,  and 
in  response  to  the  calls  of  the  company,  a  wiry  pot-boy 


92        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

in  shirt-sleeves  made  his  appearance  with  several  fresh 
tankards  of  ale,  it  now  being  past  the  hour  for  the  attendance 
of  that  coy  handmaiden  of  the  "  Trusty  Man,"  Miss  Prue. 

"Any  fresh  tales  to  tell,  Tom?"  inquired  Matt  Peke 
then — "  Any  more  harum-scarum  pranks  o'  yours  on  the 
road?" 

Tom  drank  off  a  mug  of  ale  before  replying,  and  took 
a  comprehensive  glance  around  the  room. 

"  You  have  a  stranger  here,"  he  said  suddenly,  in  his 
deep,  thrilling  voice,  "  One  who  is  not  of  our  breed,— one 
who  is  unfamiliar  with  our  ways.  Friend  or  foe  ?  " 

"  Friend !  "  declared  Peke  emphatically,  while  Bill  Bush 
and  one  or  two  of  the  men  exchanged  significant  looks  and 
nudged  each  other.  "  Now,  Tom,  none  of  yer  gypsy  tan- 
trums !  I  knows  all  yer  Romany  gibberish,  an'  I  ain't  takin' 
any.  Ye've  got  a  good  'art  enough,  so  don't  work  yer 
dander  up  with  this  'ere  old  chap  what's  a-trampin'  it  to 
try  and  find  out  all  that's  left  o's  fam'ly  an'  friends  'fore 
turnin'  up  'is  toes  to  the  daisies.  'Is  name  is  David,  an'  'e's 
teen  kickt  out  o'  office  work  through  bein'  too  old.  That's 
'is  ticket ! " 

Tom  o'  the  Gleam  listened  to  this  explanation  in  silence, 
playing  absently  with  the  green  tags  of  ribbon  at  his  waist- 
coat. Then  slowly  lifting  his  eyes  he  fixed  them  full 
on  Helmsley,  who,  despite  himself,  felt  an  instant's  confu- 
sion at  the  searching  intensity  of  the  man's  bold  bright 
gaze. 

"  Old  and  poor !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  That's  a  bad  lookout 
in  this  world !  Aren't  you  tired  of  living !  " 

"  Nearly,"  answered  Helmsley  quietly — "  but  not  quite." 

Their  looks  met,  and  Tom's  dark  features  relaxed  into  a 
smile. 

"  You're  fairly  patient !  "  he  said,  "  for  it's  hard  enough 
to  be  poor,  but  it's  harder  still  to  be  old.  If  I  thought  I 
should  live  to  be  as  old  as  you  are,  I'd  drown  myself  in 
the  sea !  There's  no  use  in  life  without  body's  strength  and 
heart's  love." 

"  Ah,  tha  be  graat  on  the  love  business,  Tom !  "  chuckled 
""  Feathery  "  Joltram,  lifting  his  massive  body  with  a  shake 
out  of  the  depths  of  his  comfortable  chair.  "  Zeems  to  me 
tha's  zummat  like  the  burd  what  cozies  a  new  mate  ivery 
zummer !  " 

Tom  o'  the  Gleam  laughed,  his  strong  even  white  teeth 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        93 

shining  like  a  row  of  pearls  between  his  black  moustaches 
and  short-cropped  beard. 

"  You're  a  steady-going  man,  Feathery,"  he  said,  "  and 
I'm  a  wastrel.  But  I'm  ne'er  as  fickle  as  you  think.  I've 
but  one  love  in  the  world  that's  left  me — my  kiddie." 

"  Ay,  an'  'ow's  the  kiddie?  "  asked  Matt  Peke— "  Thrivin' 
as  iver?" 

"  Fine !  As  strong  a  little  chap  as  you'll  see  between 
Ouantocks  and  Land's  End.  He'll  be  four  Eome  Mar- 
tinmas." 

"  Zo  agem'  quick  as  that ! "  commented  Joltram  with  a 
broad  grin.  "  For  zure  'e  be  a  man  grow'd !  Tha'll  be 
puttin'  the  breechez  on  'im  an'  zendin'  'im  to  the  school " 

"  Never !  "  interrupted  Tom  defiantly.  "  They'll  never 
catch  my  kiddie  if  I  know  it!  I  want  him  for  myself, — 
others  shall  have  no  part  in  him.  He  shall  grow  up  wild 
like  a  flower  of  the  fields — wild  as  his  mother  was — wild  as 
the  wild  roses  growing  over  her  grave " 

He  broke  off  suddenly  with  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  Psha !  Why  do  you  drag  me  over  the  old  rough  ground 
talking  of  Kiddie !  "  he  exclaimed,  almost  angrily.  "  The 
child's  all  right.  He's  safe  in  camp  with  the  women." 

"  Anywheres  nigh  ?  "  asked  Bill  Bush. 

Tom  o'  the  Gleam  made  no  answer,  but  the  fierce  look  in 
his  eyes  showed  that  he  was  not  disposed  to  be  communica- 
tive on  this  point.  Just  then  the  sound  of  voices  raised  in 
some  dispute  on  the  threshold  of  the  "  Trusty  Man,"  caused 
all  the  customers  in  the  common  room  to  pause  in  their 
talking  and  drinking,  and  to  glance  expressively  at  one 
another.  Miss  Tranter's  emphatic  accents  rang  out  sharply 
on  the  silence. 

"  It  wants  ten  minutes  to  ten,  and  I  never  close  till  half- 
past  ten,"  she  said  decisively.  "  The  law  does  not  compel 
me  to  do  so  till  eleven,  and  I  resent  private  interference." 

"  I  am  aware  that  you  resent  any  advice  offered  for  your 
good,"  was  the  reply,  delivered  in  harsh  masculine  tones. 
"  You  are  a  singularly  obstinate  woman.  But  I  have  my 
duty  to  perform,  and  as  minister  of  this  parish  I  shall 
perform  it." 

"  Mind  your  own  business  first !  "  said  Miss  Tranter,  with 
evident  vehemence. 

"  My  business  is  my  duty,  and  my  duty  is  my  business," 
— and  here  the  male  voice  grew  more  rasping  and  raucous. 


94,       THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  I  have  as  much  right  to  use  this  tavern  as  any  one  of 
the  misled  men  who  spend  their  hard  earnings  here  and  neg- 
lect their  homes  and  families  for  the  sake  of  drink.  And 
as  you  do  not  close  till  half-past  ten,  it  is  not  too  late  for 
me  to  enter." 

During  this  little  altercation,  the  party  round  the  table 
in  the  common  room  sat  listening  intently.  Then  Bubble, 
rousing  himself  from  a  pleasant  ale-warm  lethargy,  broke 
the  spell. 

"  Domed  if  it  aint  old  Arbroath !  "  he  said. 

"  Ay,  ay,  'tis  old  Arbroath  zartin  zure ! "  responded 
"  Feathery  "  Joltram  placidly.  "  Let  'un  coom  in !  Let  'un 
coom  in ! " 

Tom  o'  the  Gleam  gave  vent  to  a  loud  laugh,  and  throw- 
ing himself  back  in  his  chair,  crossed  his  long  legs  and 
administered  a  ferocious  twirl  to  his  moustache,  humming 
carelessly  under  his  breath: — 

" '  And  they  called  the  parson  to  marry  them, 

But  devil  a  bit  would  he — 
For  they  were  but  a  pair  of  dandy  prats 
As  couldn't  pay  devil's  fee  ! ' ' 

Helmsley's  curiosity  was  excited.  There  was  a  marked 
stir  of  expectation  among  the  guests  of  the  "  Trusty  Man  " ; 
they  all  appeared  to  be  waiting  for  something  about  to 
happen  of  exceptional  interest.  He  glanced  inquiringly  at 
Peke,  who  returned  the  glance  by  one  of  warning. 

"  Best  sit  quiet  a  while  longer,"  he  said.  "  They  won't 
break  up  till  closin'  hour,  an'  m'appen  there'll  be  a  bit 
o'  fun." 

"  Ay,  sit  quiet !  "  said  Tom  o'  the  Gleam,  catching  these 
words,  and  turning  towards  Helmsley  with  a  smile — 
"  There's  more  than  enough  time  for  tramping.  Come ! 
Show  me  if  you  can  smoke  that!"  "That"  was  a  choice 
Havana  cigar  which  he  took  out  of  the  pocket  of  his  crimson 
wool  waistcoat.  "  You've  smoked  one  before  now,  I'll 
warrant !  " 

Helmsley  met  his  flashing  eyes  without  wavering. 

"  I  will  not  say  I  have  not,"  he  answered  quietly,  ac- 
cepting and  lighting  the  fragrant  weed,  "  but  it  was  long 
ago!" 

"  Ay,  away  in  the  Long,  long  ago ! "  said  Tom,  still  re- 
garding him  fixedly,  but  kindly — "  where  we  have  all  buried 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        95 

such  a  number  of  beautiful  things, — loves  and  hopes  and 
beliefs,  and  dreams  and  fortunes! — all,  all  tucked  away 
under  the  graveyard  grass  of  the  Long  Ago !  " 

Here  Miss  Tranter's  voice  was  heard  again  outside,  say- 
ing acidly : — 

"  It's  clear  out  and  lock  up  at  half-past  ten,  business  or 
no  business,  duty  or  no  duty.  Please  remember  that !  " 

"  'Ware,  mates !  "  exclaimed  Tom, — "  Here  comes  our 
reverend !  " 

The  door  was  pushed  open  as  he  spoke,  and  a  short, 
dark  man  in  clerical  costume  walked  in  with  a  would-be 
imposing  air  of  dignity. 

"  Good-evening,  my  friends !  "  he  said,  without  lifting 
his  hat. 

There  was  no  response. 

He  smiled  sourly,  and  surveyed  the  assembled  company 
with  a  curious  air  of  mingled  authority  and  contempt.  He 
looked  more  like  a  petty  officer  of  dragoons  than  a  min- 
ister of  the  Christian  religion, — one  of  those  exacting  small 
military  martinets  accustomed  to  brow-beating  and  bullying 
every  subordinate  without  reason  or  justice. 

"  So  you're  there,  are  you,  Bush !  "  he  continued,  with  a 
frowning  glance  levied  in  the  direction  of  the  always  sus- 
pected but  never  proved  poacher, — "  I  wonder  you're  not 
in  jail  by  this  time!  " 

Bill  Bush  took  up  his  pewter  tankard,  and  affected  to 
drain  it  to  the  last  dregs,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Is  that  Mr.  Dubble !  "  pursued  the  clergyman,  shad- 
ing his  eyes  with  one  hand  from  the  flickering  light  of  the 
lamp,  and  feigning  to  be  doubtful  of  the  actual  personality 
of  the  individual  he  questioned.  "  Surely  not !  I  should 
be  very  much  surprised  and  very  sorry  to  see  Mr.  Dubble 
here  at  such  a  late  hour !  " 

"  Would  ye  now !  "  said  Dubble.  "  Wai,  I'm  allus  glad 
to  give  ye  both  a  sorrer  an'  a  surprise  together,  Mr.  Ar- 
broath — darned  if  I  aint !  " 

"  You  must  be  keeping  your  good  wife  and  daughter  up 
waiting  for  you,"  proceeded  Arbroath,  his  iron-grey  eye- 
brows drawing  together  in  an  ugly  line  over  the  bridge  of 
his  nose.  "  Late  hours  are  a  mistake,  Dubble !  " 

"  So  they  be,  so  they  be,  Mr.  Arbroath !  "  agreed  Dubble. 
"  Ef  I  was  oop  till  midnight  naggin'  away  at  my  good  wife 
an'  darter  as  they  nags  away  at  me,  I'd  say  my  keepin'  o' 


96        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

late  'ours  was  a  domed  whoppin'  mistake  an'  no  doubt 
o't.  But  seein'  as  'taint  arf-past  ten  yet,  an'  I  aint  naggin' 
nobody  nor  interferin'  with  my  neighbours  nohow,  I  reckon 
I'm  on  the  right  side  o'  the  night  so  fur." 

A  murmur  of  approving  laughter  from  all  the  men  about 
him  ratified  this  speech.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Arbroath 
gave  a  gesture  of  disdain,  and  bent  his  lowering  looks  on 
Tom  o'  the  Gleam. 

"  Aren't  you  wanted  by  the  police  ?  "  he  suggested  sar- 
castically. 

The  handsome  gypsy  glanced  him  over  indifferently. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder !  "  he  retorted.  "  Perhaps  the  police 
want  me  as  much  as  the  devil  wants  you ! " 

Arbroath  flushed  a  dark  red,  and  his  lips  tightened  over 
his  teeth  vindictively. 

"  There's  a  zummat  for  tha  thinkin'  on,  Pazon  Arbroath !  " 
said  "  Feathery  "  Joltram,  suddenly  rising  from  his  chair 
and  showing  himself  in  all  his  great  height  and  burly  build. 
"  Zummat  for  a  zermon  on  owd  Nick,  when  tha're  wantin' 
to  scare  the  zhoolboys  o'  Zundays ! " 

Mr.  Arbroath's  countenance  changed  from  red  to  pale. 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  your  presence,  Mr.  Joltram,"  he 
said  stiffly. 

"  Noa,  noa,  Pazon,  m'appen  not,  but  tha's  aweer  on  it 
now.  Nowt  o'  me's  zo  zmall  as  can  thraw  to  heaven  through 
tha  straight  and  narrer  way.  I'd  'ave  to  squeeze  for  't !  " 

He  laughed, — a  big,  slow  laugh,  husky  with  good  living 
and  good  humour.  Arbroath  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  prefer  not  to  speak  to  you  at  all,  Mr.  Joltram,"  he 
said.  "  When  people  are  bound  to  disagree,  as  we  have 
disagreed  for  years,  it  is  best  to  avoid  conversation." 

"  Zed  like  the  Church  all  over,  Pazon !  "  chuckled  the 
imperturable  Joltram.  "  Zeems  as  if  I  'erd  the  '  Glory  be  ' ! 
But  if  tha  don't  want  any  talk,  why  does  tha  coom  in 
'ere  wheer  we'se  all  a-drinkin'  steady  and  talkin'  'arty,  an' 
no  quarrellin'  nor  backbitin'  of  our  neighbours  ?  Tha  wants 
us  to  go  'ome, — why  doezn't  tha  go  'ome  thysen?  Tha's 
a  wife  a  zettin'  oop  there,  an'  m'appen  she's  waitin'  with  as 
fine  a  zermon  as  iver  was  preached  from  a  temperance  cart 
in  a  wasterne  field !  " 

He  laughed  again;  Arbroath  turned  his  back  upon  him 
in  disgust,  and  strode  up  to  the  shadowed  corner  where 
Helmsley  sat  watching  the  little  scene. 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        97 

"  Now,  my  man,  who  are  you?"  demanded  the  clergyman 
imperiously.  "  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

Matt  Peke  would  have  spoken,  but  Helmsley  silenced 
him  by  a  look  and  rose  to  his  feet,  standing  humbly  with 
bent  head  before  his  arrogant  interlocutor.  There  were 
the  elements  of  comedy  in  the  situation,  and  he  was  in- 
clined to  play  his  part  thoroughly. 

"  From  Bristol,"  he  replied. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Getting  rest,  food,  and  a  night's  lodging." 

"  Why   do  you   leave   out  drink   in  the   list  ? "   sneered 
Arbroath.     "  For,    of    course,    it's    your    special    craving ! 
Where  are  you  going  ?  " 
'  To  Cornwall." 
'Tramping  it?  " 
'  Yes." 

'  Begging,  I  suppose?  " 

'  Sometimes." 

'  Disgraceful !  "  And  the  reverend  gentleman  snorted 
offence  like  a  walrus  rising  from  deep  waters.  "  Why  don't 
you  work?  " 

"  I'm  too  old." 

"  Too  old !     Too  lazy  you  mean !     How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Seventy." 

Mr.  Arbroath  paused,  slightly  disconcerted.  He  had 
entered  the  "  Trusty  Man  "  in  the  hope  of  discovering  some 
or  even  all  of  its  customers  in  a  state  of  drunkenness.  To 
his  disappointment  he  had  found  them  perfectly  sober.  He 
had  pounced  on  the  stray  man  whom  he  saw  was  a  stranger, 
in  the  expectation  of  proving  him,  at  least,  to  be  intoxi- 
cated. Here  again  he  was  mistaken.  Helmsley's  simple 
straight  answers  left  him  no  opening  for  attack. 

"  You'd  better  make  for  the  nearest  workhouse,"  he  said, 
at  last.  "  Tramps  are  not  encouraged  on  these  roads." 

"  Evidently  not !  "  And  Helmsley  raised  his  calm  eyes 
and  fixed  them  on  the  clergyman's  lowering  countenance 
with  a  faintly  satiric  smile. 

"  You're  not  too  old  to  be  impudent,  I  see !  "  retorted 
Arbroath,  with  an  unpleasant  contortion  of  his  features. 
"  I  warn  you  not  to  come  cadging  about  anywhere  in  this 
neighbourhood,  for  if  you  do  I  shall  give  you  in  charge.  I 
have  four  parishes  under  my  control,  and  I  make  it  a  rule 
to  hand  all  beggars  over  to  the  police." 


98        THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  That's  not  very  good  Christianity,  is  it  ?  "  asked  Helms- 
ley  quietly. 

Matt  Peke  chuckled.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Arbroath  started 
indignantly,  and  stared  so  hard  that  his  rat-brown  eyes 
visibly  projected  from  his  head. 

"  Not  very  good  Christianity !  "  he  echoed.  "  What — 
what  do  you  mean?  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  about 
Christianity !  " 

"  Ay,  'tis  a  bit  aff !  "  drawled  "  Feathery  "  Joltram,  thrust- 
ing his  great  hands  deep  into  his  capacious  trouser-pockets. 
"  'Tis  a  bit  aff  to  taalk  to  Christian  parzon  'bout  Christianity, 
zeein'  'tis  the  one  thing  i'  this  warld  'e  knaws  nawt  on ! " 

Arbroath  grew  livid,  but  his  inward  rage  held  him 
speechless. 

"  That's  true ! "  [cried  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  excitedly — 
"  That's  as  true  as  there's  a  God  in  heaven !  I've  read  all 
about  the  Man  that  was  born  a  carpenter  in  Galilee,  and 
so  far  as  I  can  understand  it,  He  never  had  a  rough  word 
for  the  worst  creatures  that  crawled,  and  the  worse  they 
were,  and  the  more  despised  and  down-trodden,  the  gentler 
He  was  with  them.  That's  not  the  way  of  the  men  that 
call  themselves  His  ministers !  " 

"  I  'eerd  once,"  said  Mr.  Dubble,  rising  slowly  and  laying 
down  his  pipe,  "  of  a  little  chap  what  was  makin'  a  posy 
for  'is  mother's  birthday,  an'  passin'  the  garden  o'  the 
rector  o'  the  parish,  'e  spied  a  bunch  o'  pink  chestnut  bloom 
'angin'  careless  over  the  'edge,  ready  to  blow  to  bits  wi' 
the  next  puff  o'  wind.  The  little  raskill  pulled  it  down  an' 
put  it  wi'  the  rest  o'  the  flowers  'e'd  got  for  'is  mother,  but 
the  good  an'  lovin'  rector  seed  'im  at  it,  an'  'ad  'im  nabbed 
as  a  common  thief  an'  sent  to  prison.  'E  wornt  but  a  ten- 
year-old  lad,  an'  that  prison  spoilt  'im  for  life.  'E  wor  a 
fust-class  Lord's  man  as  did  that  for  a  babby  boy,  an' 
the  hull  neighbourhood's  powerful  obleeged  to  'im.  So  don't 
ye," — and  here  he  turned  his  stolid  gaze  on  Helmsley, — 
"  don't  ye,  for  all  that  ye're  old,  an'  poor,  an'  'elpless,  go 
cadgin'  round  this  'ere  reverend  gemmen's  property,  cos 
'e's  got  a  real  pityin'  Christian  'art  o's  own,  an'  ye'd  be 
sent  to  bed  wi'  the  turnkey."  Here  he  paused  with  a  com- 
prehensive smile  round  at  the  company, — then  taking  up 
his  hat,  he  put  it  on.  "  There's  one  too  many  'ere  for 
pleasantness,  an'  I'm  goin'.  Good-den,  Tom!  Good-den, 
all!" 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN        99 

And  out  he  strode,  whistling  as  he  went.  With  his  de- 
parture every  one  began  to  move, — the  more  quickly  as 
the  clock  in  the  bar  had  struck  ten  a  minute  or  two  since. 
The  Reverend  Mr.  Arbroath  stood  irresolute  for  a  moment, 
wishing-  his  chief  enemy,  "  Feathery  "  Joltram,  would  go. 
But  Joltram  remained  where  he  was,  standing  erect,  and 
surveying  the  scene  like  a  heavily  caparisoned  charger  scent- 
ing battle. 

"  Tha's  heerd  Mizter  Bubble's  tale  afore  now,  Pazon, 
hazn't  tha  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  M'appen  tha  knaw'd  the  little 
chap  as  Christ's  man  zent  to  prizon  thysen  ?  " 

Arbroath  lifted  his  head  haughtily. 

"  A  theft  is  a  theft,"  he  said,  "  whether  it  is  committed 
by  a  young  person  or  an  old  one,  and  whether  it  is  for  a 
penny  or  a  hundred  pounds  makes  no  difference.  Thieves 
of  all  classes  and  all  ages  should  be  punished  as  such.  Those 
are  my  opinions." 

"  They  were  nowt  o'  the  Lord's  opinions,"  said  Joltram, 
"  for  He  told  the  thief  as  'ung  beside  Him,  '  This  day  shalt 
thou  be  with  Me  in  Paradise,"  but  He  didn't  say  nowt  o' 
the  man  as  got  the  thief  punished !  " 

"  You  twist  the  Bible  to  suit  your  own  ends,  Mr.  Joltram," 
retorted  Arbroath  contemptuously.  "  It  is  the  common  habit 
of  atheists  and  blasphemers  generally." 

"  Then,  by  the  Lord ! "  exclaimed  the  irrepressible 
"  Feathery,"  "  All  th'  atheists  an'  blasphemers  must  be 
a-gathered  in  the  fold  o'  the  Church,  for  if  the  pazons 
doan't  twist  the  Bible  to  suit  their  own  ends,  I'm  blest  if 
I  knaw  whaat  else  they  does  for  a  decent  livin' !  " 

Just  then  a  puff  of  fine  odour  from  the  Havana  cigar 
which  Helmsley  was  enjoying  floated  under  the  nostrils 
of  Mr.  Arbroath,  and  added  a  fresh  touch  of  irritation  to 
his  temper.  He  turned  at  once  upon  the  offending  smoker. 

"So!  You  pretend  to  be  poor!"  he  snarled,  "And  yet 
you  can  smoke  a  cigar  that  must  have  cost  a  shilling ! " 

"  It  was  given  to  me,"  replied  Helmsley  gently. 

"  Given  to  you !  Bah !  Who  would  give  an  old  tramp 
a  cigar  like  that?  " 

"  I  would !  "  And  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  sprang  lightly  up 
from  his  chair,  his  black  eyes  sparkling  with  mingled  defi- 
ance and  laughter — "  And  I  did  !  Here ! — will  you  take 
another?"  And  her  drew  out  and  opened  a  handsome 
case  full  of  the  cigars  in  question. 


100      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Thank  you ! "  and  Arbroath's  pallid  lips  trembled  with 
rage.  "  I  decline  to  share  in  stolen  plunder !  " 

"  Ha — ha — ha !  Ha — ha !  "  laughed  Tom  hilariously. 
"  Stolen  plunder !  That's  good  !  D'ye  think  I'd  steal  when 
I  can  buy!  Reverend  sir,  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  is  particular 
as  to  what  he  smokes,  and  he  hasn't  travelled  all  over  the 
world  for  nothing: 

'  Qu'en  dictes-vous  ?     Faut-il  a  ce  musier, 
II  n'est  tresor  que  de  vivre  d  son  aise!'" 

Helmsley  listened  in  wonderment.  Here  was  a  vagrant 
of  the  highroads  and  woods,  quoting  the  refrain  of  Villon's 
Contreditz  de  Franc -Gontier,  and  pronouncing  the  French 
language  with  as  soft  and  pure  an  accent  as  ever  came  out 
of  Provence.  Meanwhile,  Mr.  Arbroath,  paying  no  at- 
tention whatever  to  Tom's  outburst,  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  It  is  now  a  quarter-past  ten,"  he  announced  dictatorially ; 
"  I  should  advise  you  all  to  be  going." 

"  By  the  law  we  needn't  go  till  eleven,  though  Miss  Tran- 
ter docs  halve  it,"  said  Bill  Bush  sulkily — "  and  perhaps 
we  won't !  " 

Mr.  Arbroath  fixed  him  with  a  stern  glance. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  am  here  in  the  cause  of  Temper- 
ance ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  are  ye  ?  Then  why  don't  ye  call  on  Squire  Evans, 
as  is  the  brewer  wi'  the  big  'ouse  yonder  ?  "  queried  Bill 
defiantly.  "  'E's  the  man  to  go  to !  Arsk  'im  to  shut  up  'is 
brewery  an'  sell  no  more  ale  wi'  pizon  in't  to  the  poor! 
That'll  do  more  for  Temp'rance  than  the  early  closin'  o' 
the  '  Trusty  Man.'  " 

"  Ye're  right  enough,"  said  Matt  Peke,  who  had  refrained 
from  taking  any  part  in  the  conversation,  save  by  now  and 
then  whispering  a  side  comment  to  Helmsley.  "  There's 
stuff  put  i'  the  beer  what  the  brewers  brew,  as  is  enough 
to  knock  the  strongest  man  silly.  I'm  just  fair  tired  o' 
hearin'  o'  Temp'rance  this  an'  Temp'rance  that,  while  'arf 
the  men  as  goes  to  Parl'ment  takes  their  livin'  out  o'  the 
brewin'  o'  beer  an'  spiritus  liquors.  An'  they  bribes  their 
poor  silly  voters  wi'  their  drink  till  they'se  like  a  flock  o' 
sheep  runnin'  into  wotever  field  o'  politics  their  shepherds 
drives  'em.  The  best  way  to  make  the  temp'rance  cause 
pop'lar  is  to  stop  big  brewin'.  Let  every  ale'ouse  'ave  its 
own  pertikler  brew,  an'  m'appen  we'll  git  some  o'  the  old- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   101 

fashioned  malt  an'  'ops  agin.  That'll  be  good  for  the  small 
trader,  an'  the  big  brewin'  companies  can  take  to  somethin* 
'onester  than  the  pizonin'  bizness." 

"  You  are  a  would-be  wise  man,  and  you  talk  too  much, 
Matthew  Peke ! "  observed  the  Reverend  Mr.  Arbroath, 
smiling  darkly,  and  still  glancing  askew  at  his  watch.  "  I 
know  you  of  old !  " 

"  Ye  knows  me  an'  I  knows  you,"  responded  Peke  pla- 
cidly. "  Yer  can't  interfere  wi'  me  nohow,  an'  I  dessay  it 
riles  ye  a  bit,  for  ye  loves  interferin'  with  ivery  sort  o'  folk, 
as  all  the  parsons  do.  I  b'longs  to  no  parish,  an'  aint  under 
you  no  more  than  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  be,  an'  we  both  thanks 
the  Lord  for't!  An'  I'm  earnin'  a  livin'  my  own  way  an' 
bein'  a  benefit  to  the  sick  an'  sorry,  which  aint  so  far  from 
proper  Christianity.  Lor',  Parson  Arbroath !  I  wonder  ye 
aint  more  'uman  like,  seein'  as  yer  fav'rite  gel  in  the  village 
was  arskin'  me  t'other  day  if  I  'adn't  any  yerb  for  to  make 
a  love-charm.  '  Love-charm ! '  sez  I — '  what  does  ye  want 
that  for,  my  gel  ?  '  An'  she  up  an'  she  sez — '  I'd  like  to  make 
Parson  Arbroath  eat  it ! '  Hor — er — hor— er — hor — er ! 
'  I'd  like  to  make  Parson  Arbroath  eat  it ! '  sez  she.  An' 
she's  a  foine  strappin'  wench,  too  ! — 'Ullo,  Parson !  Coin'  ?  " 

The  door  slammed  furiously, — Arbroath  had  suddenly 
lost  his  dignity  and  temper  together.  Peke's  raillery  proved 
too  much  for  him,  and  amid  the  loud  guffaws  of  "  Feathery  " 
Joltram,  Bill  Bush  and  the  rest,  he  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  and 
they  heard  his  heavy  footsteps  go  hurriedly  across  the  pas- 
sage of  the  "  Trusty  Man,"  and  pass  out  into  the  road  be- 
yond. Roars  of  laughter  accompanied  his  departure,  and 
Peke  looked  round  with  a  smile  of  triumph. 

"It's  just  like  a  witch-spell!"  he  declared.  "There's 
nowt  to  do  but  whisper,  '  Parson's  fav'rite ! ' — an'  Parson 
hisself  melts  away  like  a  mist  o'  the  mornin'  or  a  weasel 
runnin'  into  its  'ole !  Hor — er,  hor — er,  hor — er ! ' 

And  again  the  laughter  pealed  out  long  and  loud, 
"  Feathery "  Joltram  bending  himself  double  with  merri- 
ment, and  slapping  the  sides  of  his  huge  legs  in  ecstasy. 
Miss  Tranter  hearing  the  continuous  uproar,  looked  in 
warningly,  but  there  was  a  glimmering  smile  on  her  face. 

"  We'se  goin',  Miss  Tranter !  "  announced  Bill  Bush,  his 
wizened  face  all  one  broad  grin.  "  We  aint  the  sort  to 
keep  you  up,  never  fear!  Your  worst  customer's  just 
cleared  out !  " 


X 

102      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  So  I  see !  "  replied  Miss  Tranter  calmly, — then,  nodding 
towards  Helmsley,  she  said — "  Your  room's  ready." 

Helmsley  took  the  hint.  He  rose  from  his  chair,  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  Peke. 

"  Good-night !  "  he  said.  "  You've  been  very  kind  to  me, 
and  I  shan't  forget  it ! " 

The  herb-gatherer  looked  for  a  moment  at  the  thin,  re- 
fined white  hand  extended  to  him  before  grasping  it  in  his 
own  horny  palm.  Then — 

"  Good-night,  old  chap !  "  he  responded  heartily.  "  Ef  I 
don't  see  ye  i'  the  mornin'  I'll  leave  ye  a  bottle  o'  yerb  wine 
to  take  along  wi'  ye  trampin',  for  the  more  ye  drinks  o't 
the  soberer  ye'll  be  an'  the  better  ye'll  like  it.  But  ye  should 
give  up  the  idee  o'  footin'  it  to  Cornwall ;  ye'll  never  git 
there  without  a  liftin'." 

"  I'll  have  a  good  try,  anyway,"  rejoined  Helmsley. 
"Good-night!" 

He  turned  towards  Tom  o'  the  Gleam. 

"  Good-night !  " 

"  Good-night !  "  And  Tom's  dark  eyes  glowed  upon  him 
with  a  sombre  intentness.  "  You  know  the  old  proverb 
which  says,  '  It's  a  long  lane  which  has  never  a  turning '  ?  " 

Helmsley  nodded  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Your  turning's  near  at  hand,"  said  Tom.  "  Take  my 
word  for  it !  " 

"Will  it  be  a  pleasant  turning?"  asked  Helmsley,  still 
smiling. 

"Pleasant?  Ay,  and  peaceful!"  And  Tom's  mellow 
voice  sank  into  a  softer  tone.  "  Peaceful  as  the  strong  love 
of  a  pure  woman,  and  as  sweet  with  contentment  as  is  the 
summer  when  the  harvest  is  full !  Good-night !  " 

Helmsley  looked  at  him  thoughtfully ;  there  was  some- 
thing poetic  and  fascinating  about  the  man. 

"  I  should  like  to  meet  you  again,"  he  said  impulsively. 

"  Would  you  ?  "  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  smiled.  "  So  you 
will,  as  sure  as  God's  in  heaven !  But  how  or  when,  who 
can  tell ! "  His  handsome  face  clouded  suddenly, — some 
dark  shadow  of  pain  or  perplexity  contracted  his  brows, — • 
then  he  seemed  to  throw  the  feeling,  whatever  it  was,  aside, 
and  his  features  cleared.  "  You  are  bound  to  meet  me," 
he  continued.  "  I  am  as  much  a  part  of  this  country  as 
the  woods  and  hills, — the  Quantocks  and  Brendons  know  me 
as  well  as  Exmoor  and  the  Valley  of  Rocks.  But  you  are  safe 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   103 

from  me  and  mine !  Not  one  of  our  tribe  will  harm  you, — 
you  can  pursue  your  way  in  peace — and  if  any  one  of  us 
can  give  you  help  at  any  time,  we  will." 

"  You  speak  of  a  community  ?  " 

"  I  speak  of  a  Republic !  "  answered  Tom  proudly.  "  There 
are  thousands  of  men  and  women  in  these  islands  whom 
no  king  governs  and  no  law  controls, — free  as  the  air  and 
independent  as  the  birds!  They  ask  nothing  at  any  man's 
hands — they  take  and  they  keep !  " 

"  Like  the  millionaires ! "  suggested  Bill  Bush,  with  a 
grin. 

"  Right  you  are,  Bill ! — like  the  millionaires !  None 
take  more  than  they  do,  and  none  keep  their  takings  closer !  " 

"  And  very  miserable  they  must  surely  be  sometimes,  on 
both  their  takings  and  their  keepings,"  said  Helmsley. 

"  No  doubt  of  it!  There'd  be  no  justice  in  the  mind  of 
God  if  millionaires  weren't  miserable,"  declared  Tom  o' 
the  Gleam.  "  They've  more  money  than  they  ought  to 
have, — it's  only  fair  they  should  have  less  happiness.  Com- 
pensation's a  natural  law  that  there's  no  getting  away  from, 
— that's  why  a  gypsy'5  merrier  than  a  king !  " 

Helmsley  smiled  assent,  and  with  another  friendly  good- 
night all  round,  left  the  room.  Miss  Tranter  awaited  him, 
candle  in  hand,  and  preceding  him  up  a  short  flight  of 
ancient  and  crooked  oaken  stairs,  showed  him  a  small  attic 
room  with  one  narrow  bed  in  it,  scrupulously  neat  and  clean. 

"  You'll  be  all  right  here,"  she  said.  "  There's  no  lock 
to  your  door,  but  you're  out  of  the  truck  of  house  work, 
and  no  one  will  come  nigh  you." 

"  Thank  you,  madam," — and  Helmsley  bent  his  head  gen- 
tly, almost  humbly, — "  You  are  very  good  to  me.  I  am 
most  grateful ! " 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Miss  Tranter,  affecting  snappishness. 
"  You  pay  for  a  bed,  and  here  it  is.  The  lodgers  here 
generally  share  one  room  between  them,  but  you  are  an 
old  man  and  need  rest.  It's  better  you  should  get  your 
sleep  without  any  chance  of  disturbance.  Good-night !  " 

"  Good-night ! " 

She  set  down  the  candle  by  his  bedside  with  a  "  Mind 
you  put  it  out !  "  final  warning,  and  descended  the  stairs  to 
see  the  rest  of  her  customers  cleared  off  the  premises,  with 
the  exception  of  Bill  Bush,  Matt  Peke,  and  Tom  o'  the 
Gleam,  who  were  her  frequent  night  lodgers.  She  found 


104      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Tom  o'  the  Gleam  standing  up  and  delivering  a  kind  of  ex- 
temporary oration,  while  his  rough  cap,  under  the  pilotage 
of  Bill  Bush,  was  being  passed  round  the  table  in  the 
fashion  of  a  collecting  plate. 

"  The  smallest  contribution  thankfully  received ! "  he 
laughed,  as  he  looked  and  saw  her.  "  Miss  Tranter,  we're 
doing  a  mission !  We're  Salvationists !  Now's  your  chance ! 
Give  us  a  sixpence !  " 

"  What  for  ?  "  And  setting  her  arms  akimbo,  the  hostess 
of  the  "  Trusty  Man "  surveyed  all  her  lingering  guests 
with  a  severe  face.  "  What  games  are  you  up  to  now  ?  It's 
time  to  clear !  " 

"  So  it  is,  and  all  the  good  little  boys  are  going  to  bed," 
said  Tom.  "  Don't  be  cross,  Mammy !  We  want  to  close 
our  subscription  list — that's  all !  We've  raised  a  few  pennies 
for  the  old  grandfather  upstairs.  He'll  never  get  to  Corn- 
wall, poor  chap!  He's  as  white  as  paper.  Office  work 
doesn't  fit  a  man  of  his  age  for  tramping  the  road.  We've 
collected  two  shillings  for  him  among  us, — you  give  six- 
pence, and  there's  half-a-crown  all  told.  God  bless  the 
total!" 

He  seized  his  cap  as  it  was  handed  back  to  him,  and 
shook  it,  to  show  that  it  was  lined  with  jingling  half-pence, 
and  his  eyes  sparkled  like  those  of  a  child  enjoying  a  bit 
of  mischief. 

"  Come,  Miss  Tranter !    Help  the  Gospel  mission !  " 

Her  features  relaxed  into  a  smile,  and  feeling  in  her  apron 
pocket,  she  produced  the  requested  coin. 

"  There  you  are !  "  she  said. — "  And  now  you've  got  it, 
how  are  you  going  to  give  him  the  money  ?  " 

"  Never  you  mind !  "  and  Tom  swept  all  the  coins  to- 
gether, and  screwed  them  up  in  a  piece  of  newspaper. 
"  We'll  surprise  the  old  man  as  the  angels  surprise  the 
children !  " 

Miss  Tranter  said  nothing  more,  but  withdrawing  to  the 
passage,  stood  and  watched  her  customers  go  out  of  the 
door  of  the  "  Trusty  Man,"  one  by  one.  Each  great  hulk- 
ing fellow  doffed  his  cap  to  her  and  bade  her  a  respectful 
"  Good-night  "  as  he  passed,  "  Feathery  "  Joltram  pausing 
a  moment  to  utter  an  "  aside  "  in  her  ear. 

"  'A  fixed  oop  owd  Arbroath  for  zartin  zure !  " — and  here, 
with  a  sly  wink,  he  gave  a  forcible  nudge  to  her  arm, — "An 
owd  larrupin'  fox  'e  be ! — an'  Matt  Peke  giv'  'im  the  finish 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   105 

wi's  fav'rite !  Ha — ha — ha !  'A  can't  abide  a  wurrd  o'  that 
long-legged  wench  !  Ha — ha — ha !  An'  look  y'ere,  Miss 
Tranter!  I'd  'a  given  a  shillin'  in  Tom's  'at  when  it  went 
round,  but  I'm  thinkin'  as  zummat  in  the  face  o'  the  owd 
gaffer  up  in  bed  ain't  zet  on  beggin',  an'  m'appen  a  charity'd 
'urt  'is  feelin's  like  the  poor-'ouse  do.  But  if  'e's  wantin'  to 
'arn  a  mossel  o'  victual,  I'll  find  'im  a  lightsome  job  on  the 
farm  if  he'll  reckon  to  walk  oop  to  me  afore  noon  to-mor- 
rer.  Tell  'im  that  from  farmer  Joltram,  an'  good-night 
t'ye!" 

He  strode  out,  and  before  eleven  had  struck,  the  old- 
fashioned  iron  bar  clamped  down  across  the  portal,  and  the 
inn  was  closed.  Then  Miss  Tranter  turned  into  the  bar, 
and  before  shutting  it  up  paused,  and  surveyed  her  three 
lodgers  critically. 

"  So  you  pretend  to  be  all  miserably  poor,  and  yet  you 
actually  collect  what  you  call  a  '  fund '  for  the  old  tramp 
upstairs  who's  a  perfect  stranger  to  you ! "  she  said — "  Ras- 
cals that  you  are! " 

Bill  Bush  looked  sheepish. 

"  Only  halfpence,  Miss,"  he  explained.  "  Poor  we  be  as 
church  mice,  an'  ye  knows  that,  doesn't  ye?  But  we  aint 
gone  broken  yet,  an'  Tom  'e  started  the  idee  o'  doin'  a  good 
turn  for  th'  old  gaffer,  for  say  what  ye  like  'e  do  look  a  bit 
feeble  for  trampin'  it." 

Miss  Tranter  sniffed  the  atmosphere  of  the  bar  with  a 
very  good  assumption  of  lofty  indifference. 

"You  started  the  idea,  did  you?"  she  went  on,  looking 
at  Tom  o'  the  Gleam.  "  You're  a  nice  sort  of  ruffian  to 
start  any  idea  at  all,  aren't  you  ?  I  thought  you  always  took, 
and  never  gave !  " 

He  smiled,  leaning  his  handsome  head  back  against  the 
white-washed  wall  of  the  little  entry  where  he  stood,  but 
said  nothing.  Matt  Peke  then  took  up  the  parable. 

"  Th'  old  man  be  mortal  weak  an'  faint  for  sure,"  he  said. 
"  I  come  upon  'im  lyin'  under  a  tree  wi'  a  mossel  book  aside 
'im,  an'  I  takes  an'  looks  at  the  book,  an'  'twas  all  portry  an' 
simpleton  stuff  like,  an'  'e  looked  old  enough  to  be  my  dad, 
an'  tired  enough  to  be  fast  goin'  where  my  dad's  gone,  so 
I  just  took  'im  along  wi'  me,  an'  giv'  'im  my  name  an'  pur- 
fession,  an'  'e  did  the  same,  a-tellin'  me  as  'ow  'is  name  was 
D.  David,  an'  'ow  'e  'd  lost  'is  office  work  through  bein'  too 
old  an'  shaky.  'E's  all  right, — an  office  man  aint  much  good 


106      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

on  the  road,  weak  on  'is  pins  an'  failin'  in  'is  sight  M'ap- 
pen  the  'arf-crown  we've  got  'im  'ull  'elp  'im  to  a  ride  part 
o'  the  way  'e's  goin'." 

"  Well,  don't  you  men  bother  about  him  any  more,"  said 
Miss  Tranter  decisively.  "  You  get  off  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, as  usual.  /'//  look  after  him !  " 

"  Will  ye  now  ? "  and  Peke's  rugged  features  visibly 
brightened — "That's  just  like  ye,  Miss!  Aint  it,  Tom? 
Aintit,  Bill?" 

Both  individuals  appealed  to  agreed  that  it  was  "  Miss 
Tranter  all  over." 

"  Now  off  to  bed  with  you !  "  proceeded  that  lady  per- 
emptorily. "And  leave  your  collected  '  fund  '  with  me — I'll 
give  it  to  him." 

But  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  would  not  hear  of  this. 

"  No,  Miss  Tranter ! — with  every  respect  for  you,  no !  " 
he  said  gaily.  "  It's  not  every  night  we  can  play  angels ! 
I  play  angel  to  my  kiddie  sometimes,  putting  a  fairing  in 
his  little  hammock  where  he  sleeps  like  a  bird  among  the 
trees  all  night,  but  I've  never  had  the  chance  to  do  it  to 
an  old  grandad  before !  Let  me  have  my  way !  " 

And  so  it  chanced  that  at  about  half-past  eleven,  Helms- 
ley,  having  lain  down  with  a  deep  sense  of  relief  and  repose 
on  his  clean  comfortable  little  bed,  was  startled  out  of  his 
first  doze  by  hearing  stealthy  steps  approaching  his  door. 
His  heart  began  to  beat  quickly, — a  certain  vague  misgiving 
troubled  him, — after  all,  he  thought,  had  he  not  been  very 
rash  to  trust  himself  to  the  shelter  of  this  strange  and  lonely 
inn  among  the  wild  moors  and  hills,  among  unknown  men, 
who,  at  any  rate  by  their  rough  and  uncouth  appearance, 
might  be  members  of  a  gang  of  thieves?  The  steps  came 
nearer,  and  a  hand  fumbled  gently  with  the  door  handle.  In 
that  tense  moment  of  strained  listening  he  was  glad  to  re- 
member that  when  undressing,  he  had  carefully  placed  his 
vest,  lined  with  the  bank-notes  he  carried,  under  the  sheet 
on  which  he  lay,  so  that  in  the  event  of  any  one  coming  to 
search  his  clothes,  nothing  would  be  found  but  a  few  loose 
coins  in  his  coat  pocket.  The  fumbling  at  his  door  con- 
tinued, and  presently  it  slowly  opened,  letting  in  a  pale 
stream  of  moonlight  from  a  lattice  window  outside.  He 
just  saw  the  massive  figure  of  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  standing 
on  the  threshold,  clad  in  shirt  and  trousers  only,  and  behind 
him  there  seemed  to  be  the  shadowy  outline  of  Matt  Peke's 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   107 

broad  shoulders  and  Bill  Bush's  bullet  head.  Uncertain 
what  to  expect,  he  determined  to  show  no  sign  of  conscious- 
ness, and  half  closing  his  eyes,  he  breathed  heavily  and  reg- 
ularly, feigning  to  be  in  a  sound  slumber.  But  a  cold  chill 
ran  through  his  veins  as  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  slowly  and 
cautiously  approached  the  bed,  holding  something  in  his 
right  hand,  while  Matt  Peke  and  Bill  Bush  tiptoed  gently 
after  him  half-way  into  the  room. 

"  Poor  old  gaffer !  "  he  heard  Tom  whisper — "  Looks  all 
ready  laid  out  and  waiting  for  the  winding !  " 

And  the  hand  that  held  the  something  stole  gently  and 
ever  gentlier  towards  the  pillow.  By  a  supreme  effort 
Helmsley  kept  quite  still.  How  he  controlled  his  nerves  he 
never  knew,  for  to  see  through  his  almost  shut  eyelids  the 
dark  herculean  form  of  the  gypsy  bending  over  him  with  the 
two  other  men  behind,  moved  him  to  a  horrible  fear.  Were 
they  going  to  murder  him?  If  so,  what  for?  To  them 
he  was  but  an  old  tramp, — unless — unless  somebody  had 
tracked  him  from  London! — unless  somebody  knew  wha 
he  really  was,  and  had  pointed  him  out  as  likely  to  have 
money  about  him.  These  thoughts  ran  like  lightning 
through  his  brain,  making  his  blood  burn  and  his  pulses 
tingle  almost  to  the  verge  of  a  start  and  cry,  when  the 
creeping  hand  he  dreaded  quietly  laid  something  on  his 
pillow  and  withdrew  itself  with  delicate  precaution. 

"  He'll  be  pleased  when  he  wakes,"  said  Tom  o'  the  Gleam, 
in  the  mildest  of  whispers,  retreating  softly  from  the  bed- 
side— "  Won't  he  ?" 

"Ay,  that  he  will !  "  responded  Peke,  under  his  breath ; 
"aint  'e  sleepin'  sound  ?  " 

"  Sound  as  a  babe ! " 

Slowly  and  noiselessly  they  stepped  backward, — slowly 
and  noiselessly  they  closed  the  door,  and  the  faint  echo  of 
their  stealthy  footsteps  creeping  away  along  the  outer  pas- 
sage to  another  part  of  the  house,  was  hushed  at  last  into 
silence.  After  a  long  pause  of  intense  stillness,  some  clock 
below  stairs  struck  midnight  with  a  mellow  clang,  and 
Helmsley  opening  his  eyes,  lay  waiting  till  the  excited  beat- 
ing of  his  heart  subsided,  and  his  quickened  breath  grew 
calm.  Blaming  himself  for  his  nervous  terrors,  he  presently 
rose  from  his  bed,  and  struck  a  match  from  the  box  which 
Miss  Tranter  had  thoughtfully  left  beside  him,  and  lit  his 
candle.  Something  had  been  placed  on  his  pillow,  and 


108      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Curiosity  moved  him  to  examine  it.  He  looked, — but  saw 
nothing  save  a  mere  screw  of  soiled  newspaper.  He  took 
it  up  wonderingly.  It  was  heavy, — and  opening  it  he  found 
it  full  of  pennies,  halfpennies,  and  one  odd  sixpence.  A 
scrap  of  writing  accompanied  this  collection,  roughly  pen- 
cilled thus : — "  To  help  you  along  the  road.  From  friends 
at  the  Trusty  Man,  Good  luck !  " 

For  a  moment  he  stood  inert,  fingering  the  humble 
coins, — for  a  moment  he  could  hardly  realise  that  these 
rough  men  of  doubtful  character  and  calling,  with  whom 
he  had  passed  one  evening,  were  actually  humane  enough  to 
feel  pity  for  his  age,  and  sympathy  for  his  seeming  loneli- 
ness and  poverty,  and  that  they  had  sufficient  heart  and 
generosity  to  deprive  themselves  of  money  in  order  to  help 
one  whom  they  judged  to  be  in  greater  need ; — then  the 
pure  intention  and  honest  kindness  of  the  little  "  surprise  " 
gift  came  upon  him  all  at  once,  and  he  was  not  ashamed  to 
feel  his  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"  God  forgive  me !  "  he  murmured — "  God  forgive  me 
that  I  ever  judged  the  poor  by  the  rich !  " 

With  an  almost  reverential  tenderness,  he  folded  the  paper 
and  coins  together,  and  put  the  little  packet  carefully  away, 
determining  never  to  part  with  it. 

"  For  its  value  outweighs  every  bank-note  I  ever  han- 
dled !  "  he  said — "And  I  am  prouder  of  it  than  of  all  my 
millions !  " 


CHAPTER     VIII 

THE  light  of  the  next  day's  sun,  beaming  with  all  the  heat 
and  effulgence  of  full  morning,  bathed  moor  and  upland  in 
a  wide  shower  of  gold,  when  Miss  Tranter,  standing  on  the 
threshold  of  her  dwelling,  and  shading  her  eyes  with  one 
hand  from  the  dazzling  radiance  of  the  skies,  watched  a 
man's  tall  figure  disappear  down  the  rough  and  precipitous 
road  which  led  from  the  higher  hills  to  the  sea-shore.  All 
her  night's  lodgers  had  left  her  save  one — and  he  was  still 
soundly  sleeping.  Bill  Bush  had  risen  as  early  as  five  and 
stolen  away, — Matt  Peke  had  broken  his  fast  with  a  cup  of 
hot  milk  and  a  hunch  of  dry  bread,  and  shouldering  his 
basket,  had  started  for  Crowcombe,  where  he  had  several 
customers  for  his  herbal  wares. 

"  Take  care  o'  the  old  gaffer  I  brought  along  wi'  me," 
had  been  his  parting  recommendation  to  the  hostess  of  the 
"  Trusty  Man."  "  Tell  'im  I've  left  a  bottle  o'  yerb  wine 
in  the  bar  for  'im.  M'appen  ye  might  find  an  odd  job  or 
two  about  th'  'ouse  an'  garden  for  'im,  just  for  lettin'  'im 
rest  a  while." 

Miss  Tranter  had  nodded  curtly  in  response  to  this  sug- 
gestion, but  had  promised  nothing. 

The  last  to  depart  from  the  inn  was  Tom  o'  the  Gleam. 
Tom  had  risen  in  what  he  called  his  "  dark  mood."  He  had 
eaten  no  breakfast,  and  he  scarcely  spoke  at  all  as  he  took 
up  his  stout  ash  stick  and  prepared  to  fare  forth  upon  his 
way.  Miss  Tranter  was  not  inquisitive,  but  she  had  rather 
a  liking  for  Tom,  and  his  melancholy  surliness  was  not  lost 
upon  her. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  she  asked  ^sharply. 
"  You're  like  a  bear  with  a  sore  head  this  morning!  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  sombre  eyes  in  which  the  flame  of 
strongly  restrained  passions  feverishly  smouldered. 

"  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me,"  he  answered 
slowly.  "  Last  night  I  was  happy.  This  morning  I  am 
wretched !  " 

"  For  no  cause?  " 

"  For  no  cause  that  I  know  of," — and  he  heaved  a  sudden 
sigh.  "  It  is  the  dark  spirit — the  warning  of  an  evil  hour !  " 

109 


110      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense !  "  said  Miss  Tranter. 

He  was  silent.  His  mouth  compressed  itself  into  a  petu- 
lant line,  like  that  of  a  chidden  child  ready  to  cry. 

"  I  shall  be  all  right  when  I  have  kissed  the  kiddie," 
he  said. 

Miss  Tranter  sniffed  and  tossed  her  head. 

"  You're  just  a  fool  over  that  kiddie,"  she  declared  with 
emphasis, — "  You  make  too  much  of  him." 

"  How  can  I  make  too  much  of  my  all  ?  "  he  asked. 

Her  face  softened. 

"  Well,  it's  a  pity  you  look  at  it  in  that  way,"  she  said. 
"  You  shouldn't  set  your  heart  on  anything  in  this  world." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Is  God  a  friend  that  He 
should  grudge  us  love  ?  " 

Her  lips  trembled  a  little,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

"  What  am  I  to  set  my  heart  on  ?  "  he  continued — "  If  not 
on  anything  in  this  world,  what  have  I  got  in  the  next  ?  " 

A  faint  tinge  of  colour  warmed  Miss  Tranter's  sallow 
cheeks. 

"  Your  wife's  in  the  next,"  she  answered,  quietly. 

His  face  changed — his  eyes  lightened. 

"  My  wife !  "  he  echoed.  "  Good  woman  that  you  are, 
you  know  she  was  never  my  wife !  No  parson  ever  mocked 
us  wild  birds  with  his  blessing!  She  was  my  love — my 
love ! — so  much  more  than  wife !  By  Heaven  !  If  prayer 
and  fasting  would  bring  me  to  the  world  where  she  is,  I'd 
fast  and  pray  till  I  turned  this  body  of  mine  to  dust  and 
ashes!  But  my  kiddie  is  all  I  have  that's  left  of  her;  and 
shall  I  not  love  him,  nay,  worship  him  for  her  sake  ?  " 

Miss  Tranter  tried  to  look  severe,  but  could  not, — the 
strong  vehemence  of  the  man  shook  her  self-possession. 

"  Love  him,  yes ! — but  don't  worship  him,"  she  said. 
"  It's  a  mistake,  Tom !  He's  only  a  child,  after  all,  and 
he  might  be  taken  from  you." 

"  Don't  say  that !  "  and  Tom  suddenly  gripped  her  by 
the  arm.  "  For  God's  sake  don't  say  that !  Don't  send  me 
away  this  morning  with  those  words  buzzing  in  my  ears !  " 

Great  tears  flashed  into  his  eyes, — his  face  paled  and  con- 
tracted as  with  acutest  agony. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Tom,"  faltered  Miss  Tranter,  herself  quite 
overcome  by  his  fierce  emotion — "  I  didn't  mean " 

"  Yes — yes ! — that's  right !  Say  you  didn't  mean  it !  " 
muttered  Tom,  with  a  pained  smile — "You  didn't ?" 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   111 

"  I  didn't  mean  it ! "  declared  Miss  Tranter  earnestly. 
"  Upon  my  word  I  didn't,  Tom !  " 

He  loosened  his  hold  of  her  arm. 

"  Thank  you !  God  bless  you ! "  and  a  shudder  ran 
through  his  massive  frame.  "  But  it's  all  one  with  the 
dark  hour! — all  one  with  the  wicked  tongue  of  a  dream 
that  whispers  to  me  of  a  coming  storm !  " 

He  pulled  his  rough  cap  over  his  brows,  and  strode  for- 
ward a  step  or  two.  Then  he  suddenly  wheeled  round 
again,  and  doffed  the  cap  to  Miss  Tranter. 

"  It's  unlucky  to  turn  back,"  he  said,  "  yet  I'm  doing  it, 
because — because — I  wouldn't  have  you  think  me  sullen  or 
ill-tempered  with  youl  Nor  ungrateful.  You're  a  good 
woman,  for  all  that  you're  a  bit  rough  sometimes.  If  you 
want  to  know  where  we  are,  we've  camped  down  by  Cleeve, 
and  we're  on  the  way  to  Dunster.  I  take  the  short  cuts 
that  no  one  else  dare  venture  by — over  the  cliffs  and  through 
the  cave-holes  of  the  sea.  When  the  old  man  comes  down, 
tell  him  I'll  have  a  care  of  him  if  he  passes  my  way.  I  like 
his  face !  I  think  he's  something  more  than  he  seems." 

"  So  do  I ! "  agreed  Miss  Tranter.  "  I'd  almost  swear 
that  he's  a  gentleman,  fallen  on  hard  times." 

"A  gentleman ! "  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  laughed  disdain- 
fully— "  What's  that  ?  Only  a  robber  grown  richer  than 
his  neighbours !  Better  be  a  plain  Man  any  day  than  your 
up-to-date  '  gentleman  '  !  " 

With  another  laugh  he  swung  away,  and  Miss  Tranter 
remained,  as  already  stated,  at  the  door  of  the  inn  for  many 
minutes,  watching  his  easy  stride  over  the  rough  stones  and 
clods  of  the  "  by-road  "  winding  down  to  the  sea.  His 
figure,  though  so  powerfully  built,  was  singularly  graceful 
in  movement,  and  commanded  the  landscape  much  as  that 
of  some  chieftain  of  old  might  have  commanded  it  in  that 
far  back  period  of  time  when  mountain  thieves  and  maraud- 
ers were  the  progenitors  of  all  the  British  kings  and  their 
attendant  nobility. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  that  man's  real  history !  "  she  mused,  as 
he  at  last  disappeared  from  her  sight.  !<  The  folks  about 
here,  suoh  as  Mr.  Joltram,  for  instance,  say  he  was  never 
born  to  the  gypsy  life, — he  speaks  too  well,  and  knows  too 
much.  Yet  he's  wild  enough — and — yes! — I'm  afraid  he's 
bad  enough — sometimes — to  be  anything!  " 

Her  meditations  were  here  interrupted  by  a  touch  on  her 


112      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

arm,  and  turning,  she  beheld  her  round-eyed  handmaiden, 
Prue. 

"  The  old  man  you  sez  is  a  gentleman  is  down,  Mis' 
Tranter ! " 

Miss  Tranter  at  once  stepped  indoors  and  confronted 
Helmsley,  who,  amazed  to  find  it  nearly  ten  o'clock,  now 
proffered  humble  excuses  to  his  hostess  for  his  late  rising. 
She  waived  these  aside  with  a  good-humoured  nod  and 
smile. 

"  That's  all  right !  "  she  said.  "  I  wanted  you  to  have  a 
good  long  rest,  and  I'm  glad  you  got  it.  Were  you  dis- 
turbed at  all  ?  " 

"  Only  by  kindness,"  answered  Helmsley  in  a  rather 
tremulous  voice.  "  Some  one  came  into  my  room  while  I 
was  asleep — and — and — I  found  a  '  surprise  packet '  on  my 
pillow " 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  about  it,"  interrupted  Miss  Tranter, 
with  a  touch  of  embarrassment — "  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  did 
that.  He's  just  gone.  He's  a  rough  chap,  but  he's  got  a 
heart.  He  thinks  you're  not  strong  enough  to  tramp  it  to 
Cornwall.  And  all  those  great  babies  of  men  put  their 
heads  together  last  night  after  you'd  gone  upstairs,  and 
clubbed  up  enough  among  them  to  give  you  a  ride  part  of 
the  way " 

"They're  very  good!"  murmured  Helmsley.  "Why 
should  they  trouble  about  an  old  fellow  like  me  ?  " 

"  Oh  well!  "  said  Miss  Tranter  cheerfully,  "  it's  just  be- 
cause you  are  an  old  fellow,  I  suppose !  You  see  you  might 
walk  to  a  station  to-day,  and  take  the  train  as  far  as  Mine- 
head  before  starting  on  the  road  again.  Anyhow  you've 
time  to  think  it  over.  If  you'll  step  into  the  room  yonder, 
I'll  send  Prue  with  your  breakfast." 

She  turned  her  back  upon  him,  and  with  a  shrill  call  of 
"  Prue !  Prue !  "  affected  to  be  too  busy  to  continue  the  con- 
versation. Helmsley,  therefore,  went  as  she  bade  him  into 
the  common  room,  which  at  this  hour  was  quite  empty.  A 
neat  white  cloth  was  spread  at  one  end  of  the  table,  and  on 
this  was  set  a  brown  loaf,  a  pat  of  butter,  a  jug  of  new  milk, 
a  basin  of  sugar,  and  a  brightly  polished  china  cup  and 
saucer.  The  window  was  open,  and  the  inflow  of  the  pure 
fresh  morning  air  had  done  much  to  disperse  the  odours  of 
stale  tobacco  and  beer  that  subtly  clung  to  the  walls  as  re- 
minders of  the  drink  and  smoke  of  the  previous  evening. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   113 

Just  outside,  a  tangle  of  climbing  roses  hung  like  a  delicate 
pink  curtain  between  Helmsley's  eyes  and  the  sunshine, 
while  the  busy  humming  of  bees  in  and  out  the  fragrant 
hearts  of  the  flowers,  made  a  musical  monotony  of  soothing 
sound.  He  sat  down  and  surveyed  the  simple  scene  with  a 
quiet  sense  of  pleasure.  He  contrasted  it  in  his  memory 
with  the  weary  sameness  of  the  breakfasts  served  to  him  in 
his  own  palatial  London  residence,  when  the  velvet-footed 
butler  creeping  obsequiously  round  the  table,  uttered  his 
perpetual  "  Tea  or  coffee,  sir  ?  'Am  or  tongue  ?  Fish  or 
heggs  ?  "  in  soft  sepulchral  tones,  as  though  these  comestibles 
had  something  to  do  with  poison  rather  than  nourishment. 
With  disgust  at  the  luxury  which  engendered  such  domestic 
appurtenances,  he  thought  of  the  two  tall  footmen,  whose 
chief  duty  towards  the  serving  of  breakfast  appeared  to  be 
the  taking  of  covers  off  dishes  and  the  putting  them  on 
again,  as  if  six-footed  able-bodied  manhood  were  not  equip- 
ped for  more  muscular  work  than  that ! 

"  We  do  great  wrong,"  he  said  to  himself — "  We  who  are 
richer  than  what  are  called  the  rich,  do  infinite  wrong  to 
our  kind  by  tolerating  so  much  needless  waste  and  useless 
extravagance.  We  merely  generate  mischief  for  ourselves 
and  others.  The  poor  are  happier,  and  far  kindlier  to  each 
other  than  the  moneyed  classes,  simply  because  they  cannot 
demand  so  much  self-indulgence.  The  lazy  habits  of  wealthy 
men  and  women  who  insist  on  getting  an  unnecessary  num- 
ber of  paid  persons  to  do  for  them  what  they  could  very  well 
do  for  themselves,  are  chiefly  to  blame  for  all  our  tiresome 
and  ostentatious  social  conditions.  Servants  must,  of  course, 
be  had  in  every  well-ordered  household — but  too  many  of 
them  constitute  a  veritable  hive  of  discord  and  worry.  Why 
have  huge  houses  at  all?  Why  have  enormous  domestic 
retinues?  A  small  house  is  always  cosiest,  and  often  pret- 
tiest, and  the  fewer  servants,  the  less  trouble.  Here  again 
comes  in  the  crucial  question — Why  do  we  spend  all  our  best 
years  of  youth,  life,  and  sentiment  in  making  money,  when, 
so  far  as  the  sweetest  and  highest  things  are  concerned, 
money  can  give  so  little !  " 

At  that  moment,  Prue  entered  with  a  brightly  shining 
old  brown  "  lustre  "  teapot,  and  a  couple  of  boiled  eggs. 

"  Mis'  Tranter  sez  you're  to  eat  the  eggs  cos'  they'se 
new-laid  an'  incloodid  in  the  bill,"  she  announced  glibly — 
"An'  'opes  you've  got  all  ye  want." 


114      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Helmsley  looked  at  her  kindly. 

"  You're  a  smart  little  girl ! "  he  said.  "  Beginning  to 
earn  your  own  living  already,  eh  ?  " 

"  Lor',  that  aint  much !  "  retorted  Prue,  putting  a  knife  by 
the  brown  loaf,  and  setting  the  breakfast  things  even  more 
straightly  on  the  table  than  they  originally  were.  "  I  lives 
on  nothin'  scarcely,  though  I'm  turned  fifteen  an'  likes  a  bit 
o'  fresh  pork  now  an'  agen.  But  I've  got  a  brother  as  is 
on'y  ten,  an'  when  'e  aint  at  school  'e's  earnin'  a  bit  by  gath- 
erin'  mussels  on  the  beach,  an'  'e  do  collect  a  goodish  bit 
too,  though  'taint  reg'lar  biziness,  an'  'e  gets  hisself  into  such 
a  pickle  o'  salt  water  as  never  was.  But  he  brings  mother 
a  shillin'  or  two." 

"And  who  is  your  mother?"  asked  Helmsley,  drawing 
up  his  chair  to  the  table  and  sitting  down. 

"  Misses  Clodder,  up  at  Blue-bell  Cottage,  two  miles  from 
'ere  across  the  moor,"  replied  Prue.  "  She  goes  out  a-char- 
ing,  but  it's  'ard  for  'er  to  be  doin'  chars  now — she's  gettin' 
old  an'  fat — orful  fat  she  be  gettin'.  Dunno  what  we'll  do 
if  she  goes  on  fattenin'." 

It  was  difficult  not  to  laugh  at  this  statement,  Prue's  eyes 
were  so  round,  her  cheeks  were  so  red,  and  she  breathed  so 
spasmodically  as  she  spoke.  David  Helmsley  bit  his  lips  to 
hide  a  broad  smile,  and  poured  out  his  tea. 

"  Have  you  no  father  ?  " 

"  No,  never  'ad,"  declared  Prue,  quite  jubilantly.  "  'E 
droonk  'isself  to  death  an'  tumbled  over  a  cliff  near  'ere  one 
dark  night  an'  was  drowned !  "  This,  with  the  most  thrill- 
ing emphasis. 

"  That's  very  sad !  But  you  can't  say  you  never  had  a 
father,"  persisted  Helmsley.  "  You  had  him  before  he  was 
drowned  ?  " 

"  No,  I  'adn't,"  said  Prue.  "  'E  never  corned  'ome  at  all. 
When  'e  seed  me  'e  didn't  know  me,  'e  was  that  blind  droonk. 
When  my  little  brother  was  born  'e  was  'owlin'  wild  down 
Watchet  way,  an'  screechin'  to  all  the  folks  as  'ow  the  baby 
wasn't  his'n !  " 

This  was  a  doubtful  subject, — a  "delicate  and  burning 
question,"  as  reviewers  for  the  press  say  when  they  want 
to  praise  some  personal  friend's  indecent  novel  and  pass  it 
into  decent  households, — and  Helmsley  let  it  drop.  He  de- 
voted himself  to  the  consideration  of  his  breakfast,  which 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   115 

was  excellent,  and  found  that  he  had  an  appetite  to  enjoy  it 
thoroughly. 

Prue  watched  him  for  a  minute  or  two  in  silence. 

"  Ye  likes  yer  food  ?  "  she  demanded,  presently. 

"Very  much!" 

"  Thought  yer  did !     I'll  tell  Mis'  Tranter." 

With  that  she  retired,  and  shutting  the  door  behind  her 
left  Helmsley  to  himself. 

Many  and  conflicting  were  the  thoughts  that  chased  one 
another  through  his  brain  during  the  quiet  half-hour  he  gave 
to  his  morning  meal, — a  whole  fund  of  new  suggestions  and 
ideas  were  being  generated  in  him  by  the  various  episodes 
in  which  he  was  taking  an  active  yet  seemingly  passive  part. 
He  had  voluntarily  entered  into  his  present  circumstances, 
and  so  far,  he  had  nothing  to  complain  of.  He  had  met 
with  friendliness  and  sympathy  from  persons  who,  judged 
by  the  world's  conventions,  were  of  no  social  account  what- 
ever, and  he  had  seen  for  himself  men  in  a  condition  of 
extreme  poverty,  who  were  nevertheless  apparently  con- 
tented with  their  lot.  Of  course,  as  a  well-known  million- 
aire, his  secretaries  had  always  had  to  deal  with  endless 
cases  of  real  or  assumed  distress,  more  often  the  latter, — and 
shoals  of  begging  letters  from  people  representing  them- 
selves as  starving  and  friendless,  formed  a  large  part  of  the 
daily  correspondence  with  which  his  house  and  office  were 
besieged, — but  he  had  never  come  into  personal  contact  with 
these  shameless  sort  of  correspondents,  shrewdly  judging 
them  to  be  undeserving  simply  by  the  very  fact  that  they 
wrote  begging  letters.  '  He  knew  that  no  really  honest  or 
plucky-spirited  man  or  woman  would  waste  so  much  as  a 
stamp  in  asking  money  from  a  stranger,  even  if  such  a 
stranger  were  twenty  times  a  millionaire.  He  had  given 
huge  sums  away  to  charitable  institutions  anonymously ;  and 
he  remembered  with  a  thrill  of  pain  the  "  Christian  kind- 
ness "  of  some  good  "  Church  "  people,  who,  when  the  news 
accidentally  slipped  out  that  he  was  the  donor  of  a  particu- 
larly munificent  gift  to  a  certain  hospital,  remarked  that  "  no 
doubt  Mr.  Helmsley  had  given  it  anonymously  at  first,  in 
order  that  it  might  be  made  public  more  effectively  after- 
wards, by  way  of  a  personal  advertisement!"  Such  spite- 
ful comment  often  repeated,  had  effectually  checked  the  out- 
flow of  his  naturally  warm  and  generous  spirit,  nevertheless 


116      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

he  was  always  ready  to  relieve  any  pressing  cases  of  want 
which  were  proved  genuine,  and  many  a  wretched  family  in 
the  East  End  of  London  had  cause  to  bless  him  for  his  timely 
and  ungrudging  aid.  But  this  present  kind  of  life, — the  life 
of  the  tramp,  the  poacher,  the  gypsy,  who  is  content  to  be 
"  on  the  road  "  rather  than  submit  to  the  trammels  of  cus- 
tom and  ordinance,  was  new  to  him  and  full  of  charm.  He 
took  a  peculiar  pleasure  in  reflecting  as  to  what  he  could 
do  to  make  these  men,  with  whom  he  had  casually  foregath- 
ered, happier?  Did  it  lie  in  his  power  to  give  them  any 
greater  satisfaction  than  that  which  they  already  possessed? 
He  doubted  whether  a  present  of  money  to  Matt  Peke,  for 
instance,  would  not  offend  that  rustic  philosopher,  more  than 
it  would  gratify  him ; — while,  as  for  Tom  o'  the  Gleam,  that 
handsome  ruffian  was  more  likely  to  rob  a"  man  of  gold  than 
accept  it  as  a  gift  from  him.  Then  involuntarily,  his 
thoughts  reverted  to  the  "  kiddie."  He  recalled  the  look  in 
Tom's  wild  eyes,  and  the  almost  womanish  tremble  of  ten- 
derness in  his  rough  voice,  when  he  had  spoken  of  this  little 
child  of  his  on  whom  he  openly  admitted  he  had  set  all 
his  love. 

"  I  should  like,"  mused  Helmsley,  "  to  see  that  kiddie ! 
Not  that  I  believe  in  the  apparent  promise  of  a  child's  life, — 
for  my  own  sons  taught  me  the  folly  of  indulging  in  any 
hopes  on  that  score — and  Lucy  Sorrel  has  completed  the 
painful  lesson.  Who  would  have  ever  thought  that  she, — 
the  little  angel  creature  who  seemed  too  lovely  and  innocent 
for  this  world  at  ten, — could  at  twenty  have  become  the  ex- 
tremely .commonplace  and  practical  woman  she  is, — prac- 
tical enough  to  wish  to  marry  an  old  man  for  his  money! 
But  that  talk  among  the  men  last  night  about  the  '  kiddie ' 
touched  me  somehow, — I  fancy  it  must  be  a  sturdy  little 
lad,  with  a  bright  face  and  a  will  of  its  own.  I  might  pos- 
sibly do  something  for  the  child  if, — if  its  father  would  let 
me !  And  that's  very  doubtful !  Besides,  should  I  not  be 
interfering  with  the  wiser  and  healthier  dispensations  of 
nature  ?  The  '  kiddie '  is  no  doubt  perfectly  happy  in  its 
wild  state  of  life, — free  to  roam  the  woods  and  fields,  with 
every  chance  of  building  up  a  strong  and  vigorous  constitu- 
tion in  the  simple  open-air  existence  to  which  it  has  been 
born  and  bred.  All  the  riches  in  the  world  could  not  make 
health  or  freedom  for  it, — and  thus  again  I  confront  myself 
with  my  own  weary  problem — Why  have  I  toiled  all  my  life 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   117 

to  make  money,  merely  to  find  money  so  useless  and  com- 
fortless at  the  end  ?  " 

With  a  sigh  he  rose  from  the  table.  His  simple  break- 
fast was  finished,  and  he  went  to  the  window  to  look  at  the 
roses  that  pushed  their  pretty  pink  faces  up  to  the  sun 
through  a  lattice-work  of  green  leaves.  There  was  a  small 
yard  outside,  roughly  paved  with  cobbles,  but  clean,  and 
bordered  here  and  there  with  bright  clusters  of  flowers,  and 
in  one  particularly  sunny  corner  where  the  warmth  from  the 
skies  had  made  the  cobbles  quite  hot,  a  tiny  white  kitten 
rolled  on  its  back,  making  the  most  absurd  efforts  to  catch 
its  own  tail  between  its  forepaws, — and  a  promising 'brood 
of  fowls  were  clucking  contentedly  /round  some  scattered 
grain  lately  flung  out  from  the*. window  of  the  "Trusty 
Man's  "  wash-house  for  their  delectation.  There  was  noth- 
ing in  the  scene  at  all  of  a  character  to  excite  envy  in  the 
most  morbid  and  dissatis'fiecl  min'd; — it, was  full  of  the  tam- 
est domesticity,  and  yet — it  was  a  picture  such  as  some 
thoughtful  Dutch  artist  would  have  liked  to  paint  as  a  sug- 
gestion of  rural  simplicity  and  peace. 

"  But  if  one  only  knew  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  life  here, 
it  might  not  prove  so  inviting,"  he  thought.  "  I  daresay 
all  the  little  towns  and  villages  in  this  neighbourhood  are 
full  of  petty  discords,  jealousies,  envy  ings  and  spites,— even 
Prue's  mother,  Mrs.  Clodder,  may  have,  and  probably  has, 
a  neighbour  whom  she  hates,  and  wishes  to  get  the  better  of 
in  some  way  or  other,  for  there  is  really  no  such  thing  as 
actual  peace  anywhere  except — in  the  grave!  And  who 
knows  whether  we  shall  even  find  it  there!  Nothing  dies 
which  does  not  immediately  begin  to  live — in  another  fash- 
ion. And  every  community,  whether  of  insects,  birds,  wild 
animals,  or  men  and  women,  is  bound  to  fight  for  exist- 
ence,— therefore  those  who  cry :  '  Peace,  peace ! '  only 
clamour  for  a  vain  thing.  The  very  stones  and  rocks  and 
mountains  maintain  a  perpetual  war  with  destroying  ele- 
ments,— they  appear  immutable  things  to  our  short  lives, 
but  they  change  in  their  turn  even  as  we  do — they  die  to  live 
again  in  other  forms,  even  as  we  do.  And  what  is  it  all  for? 
What  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  so  much  striving — if 
merest  Nothingness  is  the  end  ?  " 

He  was  disturbed  from  his  reverie  by  the  entrance  of 
Miss  Tranter.  He  turned  round  and  smiled  at  her. 

"  Well «  "  she  said—"  Enjoyed  your  breakfast?  " 


118      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Very  much  indeed,  thanks  to  your  kindness  !  "  he  replied. 
"  I  hardly  thought  I  had  such  a  good  appetite  left  to  me.  I 
feel  quite  strong  and  hearty  this  morning." 

"  You  look  twice  the  man  you  were  last  night,  certainly," 
— and  she  eyed  him  thoughtfully — "  Would  you  like  a 
job  here?  " 

A  flush  rose  to  his  brows.     He  hesitated  before  replying. 

"  You'd  rather  not !  "  snapped  out  Miss  Tranter — "  I  can 
see  '  No '  in  your  face.  Well,  please  yourself !  " 

He  looked  at  her.  Her  lips  were  compressed  in  a  thin 
line,  and  she  wore  a  decidedly  vexed  expression. 

"Ah,  you  think  I  don't  want  to  work !  "  he  said — "  There 
you're  wrong!  But  I  haven't  many  years  of  life  in  me, — 
there's  not  much  time  left  to  do  what  I  have  to  do, — and  I 
must  get  on." 

'  Get  on,  where  ?  " 

'  To  Cornwall." 

'  Whereabouts  in  Cornwall  ?  " 

'  Down  by  Penzance  way." 

'  You  want  to  start  off  on  the  tramp  again  at  once  ?  " 

'  Yes." 

'All  right,  you  must  do  as  you  like,  I  suppose," — and 
Miss  Tranter  sniffed  whole  volumes  of  meaning  in  one 
sniff — "  But  Farmer  Joltram  told  me  to  say  that  if  you 
wanted  a  light  job  up  on  his  place, — that's  about  a  mile 
from  here, — he  wouldn't  mind  giving  you  a  chance.  You'd 
get  good  victuals  there,  for  he  feeds  his  men  well.  And  I 
don't  mind  trusting  you  with  a  bit  of  gardening — you  could 
make  a  shilling  a  day  easy — so  don't  say  you  can't  get  work. 
That's  the  usual  whine — but  if  you  say  it " 

"  I  shall  be  a  liar !  "  said  Helmsley,  his  sunken  eyes  light- 
ing up  with  a  twinkle  of  merriment — "And  don't  you  fear, 
Miss  Tranter, — I  won't  say  it!  I'm  grateful  to  Mr.  Jolt- 
ram— but  I've  only  one  object  left  to  me  in  life,  and  that 
is — to  get  on,  and  find  the  person  I'm  looking  for — if  a 
can !  " 

"  Oh,  you're  looking  for  a  person,  are  you  ?  "  queried  Miss 
Tranter,  more  amicably — "  Some  long-lost  relative  ?  " 

"  No, — not  a  relative,  only — a  friend." 

"  I  see !  "  Miss  Tranter  smoothed  down  her  neatly  fitting 
plain  cotton  gown  with  both  hands  reflectively — "And  you'll 
be  all  right  if  you  find  this  friend  ?  " 

"  I  shall  never  want  anything  any  more,"  he  answered, 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   lip 

with  an  unconsciously  pathetic  tremor  in  his  voice — "  My 
dearest  wish  will  be  granted,  and  I  shall  be  quite  content 
to  die !  " 

"  Well,  content  or  no  content,  you've  got  to  do  it,"  com- 
mented Miss  Tranter — "And  so  have  I — and  so  have  all  of 
us.  Which  I  think  is  a  pity.  I  shouldn't  mind  living  for 
ever  and  ever  in  this  world.  It's  a  very  comfortable  world, 
though  some  folks  say  it  isn't.  That's  mostly  liver  with 
them  though.  People  who  don't  over-eat  or  over-drink 
themselves,  and  who  get  plenty  of  fresh  air,  are  generally 
fairly  pleased  with  the  world  as  they  find  it.  I  suppose  the 
friend  you're  looking  for  will  be  glad  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  The  friend  I'm  looking  for  will  certainly  be  glad  to  see 
me,"  said  Helmsley,  gently — "  Glad  to  see  me — glad  to  help 
me — glad  above  all  things  to  love  me !  If  this  were  not  so, 
I  should  not  trouble  to  search  for  my  friend  at  all." 

Miss  Tranter  fixed  her  eyes  full  upon  him  while  he  thus 
spoke.  They  were  sharp  eyes,  and  just  now  they  were  visi- 
bly inquisitive. 

"  You've  not  been  very  long  used  to  tramping,"  she 
observed. 

"  No." 

"  I  expect  you've  seen  better  days  ?  " 

"  Some  few,  perhaps," —  and  he  smiled  gravely — "  But 
it  comes  harder  to  a  man  who  has  once  known  comfort  to 
find  himself  comfortless  in  his  old  age." 

"  That's  very  true !  Well !  " — and  Miss  Tranter  gave  a 
short  sigh — "  I'm  sorry  you  won't  stay  on  here  a  bit  to  pick 
up  your  strength — but  a  wilful  man  must  have  his  way !  I 
hope  you'll  find  your  friend  !  " 

"  I  hope  I  shall !  "  said  Helmsley  earnestly.  "And  believe 
me  I'm  most  grateful  to  you " 

"  Tut !  "  and  Miss  Tranter  tossed  her  head.  "  What  do 
you  want  to  be  grateful  to  me  for!  You've  had  food  and 
lodging,  and  you've  paid  me  for  it.  I've  offered  you  work 
and  you  won't  take  it.  That's  the  long  and  short  of  it  be- 
tween us." 

And  thereupon  she  marched  out  of  the  room,  her  head 
very  high,  her  shoulders  very  square,  and  her  back  very 
straight.  Helmsley  watched  her  dignified  exit  with  a  curi- 
ous sense  of  half-amused  contrition. 

"What  odd  creatures  some  women  are!"  he  thought. 
"  Here's  this  sharp-tongued,  warm-hearted  hostess  of  a — 


120      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

roadside  inn  quite  angry  because,  apparently,  an  old  tramp 
won't  stay  and  do  incompetent  work  for  her!  She  knows 
that  I  should  make  a  mere  boggle  of  her  garden, — she  is 
equally  aware  that  I  could  be  no  use  in  any  way  on 
'  Feathery '  Joltram's  farm — and  yet  she  is  thoroughly  an- 
noyed and  disappointed  because  I  won't  try  to  do  what  she 
is  perfectly  confident  I  can't  do,  in  order  that  I  shall  rest 
well  and  be  fed  well  for  one  or  two  days !  Really  the  kind- 
ness of  the  poor  to  one  another  outvalues  all  the  gifts  of  the 
rich  to  the  charities  they  help  to  support.  It  is  so  much 
more  than  ordinary  '  charity,'  for  it  goes  hand  in  hand  with 
a  touch  of  personal  feeling.  And  that  is  what  few  rich  men 
ever  get, — except  when  their  pretended  '  friends  '  think  they 
can  make  something  for  themselves  out  of  their  assumed 
'  friendship  '  !  " 

He  put  on  his  hat,  and  plucked  one  of  the  roses  clamber- 
ing in  at  the  window  to  take  with  him  as  a  remembrance  of 
the  "  Trusty  Man," — a  place  which  he  felt  would  hencefor- 
ward be  a  kind  of  landmark  for  the  rest  of  his  life  to  save 
him  from  drowning  in  utter  cynicism,  because  within  its 
walls  he  had  found  unselfish  compassion  for  his  age  and 
loneliness,  and  disinterested  sympathy  for  his  seeming  need. 
Then  he  went  to  say  good-bye  to  Miss  Tranter.  She  was, 
as  usual,  in  the  bar,  standing  very  erect.  She  had  taken  up 
her  knitting,  and  her  needles  clicked  and  glittered  busily. 

"  Matt  Peke  left  a  bottle  of  his  herb  wine  for  you,"  she 
said.  "  There  it  is." 

She  indicated  by  a  jerk  of  her  head  a  flat  oblong  quart 
flask,  neatly  corked  and  tied  with  string,  which  lay  on  the 
counter.  It  was  of  a  conveniently  portable  shape,  and 
Helmsley  slipped  it  into  one  of  his  coat  pockets  with  ease. 

"Shall  you  be  seeing  Peke  soon  again,  Miss  Tranter?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  Maybe  so,  and  maybe  not.  He's 
gone  on  to  Crowcombe.  I  daresay  he'll  come  back  this 
way  before  the  end  of  the  month.  He's  a  pretty  regular 
customer." 

"  Then,  will  you  thank  him  for  me,  and  say  that  I  shall 
never  forget  his  kindness  ?  " 

"  Never  forget  is  a  long  time,"  said  Miss  Tranter.  "  Most 
folks  forget  their  friends  directly  their  backs  are  turned." 

"That's  true,"  said  Helmsley,  gently;  "but  I  shall  not. 
Good-bye!" 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   121 

"  Good-bye ! "  Miss  Tranter  paused  in  her  knitting. 
"  Which  road  are  you  going  from  here  ?  " 

Helmsley  thought  a  moment. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  at  last,  "  one  of  the  main  roads  would 
be  best.  I'd  rather  not  risk  any  chance  of  losing  my  way." 

Miss  Tranter  stepped  out  of  the  bar  and  came  to  the  open 
doorway  of  the  inn. 

"  Take  that  path  across  the  moor,"  and  she  pointed  with 
one  of  her  bright  knitting  needles  to  a  narrow  beaten  track 
between  the  tufted  grass,  whitened  here  and  there  by  clusters 
of  tall  daisies,  "  and  follow  it  as  straight  as  you  can.  It  will 
bring  you  out  on  the  highroad  to  Williton  and  Watchett. 
It's  a  goodish  bit  of  tramping  on  a  hot  day  like  this,  but  if 
you  keep  to  it  steady  you'll  be  sure  to  get  a  lift  or  so  in 
waggons  going  along  to  Dunster.  And  there  are  plenty  of 
publics  about  where  I  daresay  you'd  get  a  night's  sixpenny 
shelter,  though  whether  any  of  them  are  as  comfortable  as 
the  '  Trusty  Man,'  is  open  to  question." 

"  I  should  doubt  it  very  much,"  said  Helmsley,  his  rare 
kind  smile  lighting  up  his  whole  face.  "  The  '  Trusty  Man  ' 
thoroughly  deserves  trust;  and,  if  I  may  say  so,  its  kind 
hostess  commands  respect." 

He  raised  his  cap  with  the  deferential  easy  grace  which 
was  habitual  to  him,  and  Miss  Tranter's  pale  cheeks  red- 
dened suddenly  and  violently. 

"  Oh,  I'm  only  a  rough  sort !  "  she  said  hastily.  "  But 
the  men  like  me  because  I  don't  give  them  away.  I  hold 
that  the  poor  must  get  a  bit  of  attention  as  well  as  the 
rich." 

"  The  poor  deserve  it  more,"  rejoined  Helmsley.  "  The 
rich  get  far  too  much  of  everything  in  these  days, — they  are 
too  much  pampered  and  too  much  flattered.  Yet,  with  it 
all,  I  daresay  they  are  often  miserable." 

"  It  must  be  pretty  hard  to  be  miserable  on  twenty  or 
thirty  thousand  a  year !  "  said  Miss  Tranter. 

"  You  think  so  ?  Now,  I  should  say  it  was  very  easy. 
For  when  one  has  everything,  one  wants  nothing." 

"Well,  isn't  it  all  right  to  want  nothing?"  she  queried, 
looking  at  him  inquisitively. 

"All  right?  No! — rather  all  wrong!  For  want  stimu- 
lates the  mind  and  body  to  work,  and  work  generates  health 
and  energy, — and  energy  is  the  pulse  of  life.  Without  that 
pulse,  one  is  a  mere  husk  of  a  man — as  I  am !  "  He  doffed 


122      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

his  cap  again.  "  Thank  you  for  all  your  friendliness.  Good- 
bye !  " 

"  Good-bye !  Perhaps  I  shall  see  you  again  some  time 
this  way  ?  " 

"  Perhaps— but " 

"  With  your  friend  ?  "  she  suggested. 

"Ay — if  I  find  my  friend — then  possibly  I  may  return. 
Meanwhile,  all  good  be  with  you ! " 

He  turned  away,  and  began  to  ascend  the  path  indicated 
across  the  moor.  Once  he  looked  back  and  waved  his 
hand.  Miss  Tranter,  in  response,  waved  her  piece  of  knit- 
ting. Then  she  went  on  clicking  her  needles  rapidly 
through  a  perfect  labyrinth  of  stitches,  her  eyes  fixed  all 
the  while  on  the  tall,  thin,  frail  figure  which,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  a  stout  stick,  moved  slowly  along  between  the 
nodding  daisies. 

"  He's  what  they  call  a  mystery,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  He's  as  true-born  a  gentleman  as  ever  lived — with  a  gen- 
tleman's ways,  a  gentleman's  voice,  and  a  gentleman's  hands, 
and  yet  he's  '  on  the  road  '  like  a  tramp !  Well !  there's  many 
ups  and  downs  in  life,  certainly,  and  those  that's  rich  to-day 
may  be  poor  to-morrow.  It's  a  queer  world — and  God  who 
made  it  only  knows  what  it  was  made  for !  " 

With  that,  having  seen  the  last  of  Helmsley's  retreating 
figure,  she  went  indoors,  and  relieved  her  feelings  by  put- 
ting Prue  through  her  domestic  paces  in  a  fashion  that  con- 
siderably flurried  that  small  damsel  and  caused  her  to  won- 
der, "  what  'ad  come  over  Miss  Tranter  suddint,  she  was 
that  beside  'erself  with  work  and  temper ! " 


CHAPTER     IX 

IT  was  pleasant  walking  across  the  moor.  The  July  sun 
was  powerful,  but  to  ageing  men  the  warmth  and  vital  in- 
fluences of  the  orb  of  day  are  welcome,  precious,  and  salu- 
tary. An  English  summer  is  seldom  or  never  too  warm 
for  those  who  are  conscious  that  but  few  such  summers  are 
left  to  them,  and  David  Helmsley  was  moved  by  a  devout 
sense  of  gratitude  that  on  this  fair  and  tranquil  morning  he 
was  yet  able  to  enjoy  the  lovely  and  loving  beneficence  of 
all  beautiful  and  natural  things.  The  scent  of  the  wild 
thyme  growing  in  prolific  patches  at  his  feet, — the  more 
pungent  odour  of  the  tall  daisies  which  were  of  a  hardy, 
free-flowering  kind, — the  "  strong  sea-daisies  that  feast  on 
the  sun," — and  the  indescribable  salty  perfume  that  swept 
upwards  on  the  faint  wind  from  the  unseen  ocean,  just  now 
hidden  by  projecting  shelves  of  broken  ground  fringed  with 
trees, — all  combined  together  to  refresh  the  air  and  to  make 
the  mere  act  of  breathing  a  delight.  After  about  twenty 
minutes'  walking  Helmsley's  step  grew  easier  and  more 
spring}7, — almost  he  felt  young, — almost  he  pictured  him- 
self living  for  another  ten  years  in  health  and  active  mental 
power.  The  lassitude  and  ennui  inseparable  from  a  life 
spent  for  the  most  part  in  the  business  centres  of  London, 
had  rolled  away  like  a  noxious  mist  from  his  mind,  and  he 
was  well-nigh  ready  to  "  begin  life  again,"  as  he  told  him- 
self, with  a  smile  at  his  own  folly. 

"  No  wonder  that  the  old-world  philosophers  and  scientists 
sought  for  the  elixir  vitas  I"  he  thought.  "No  wonder 
they  felt  that  the  usual  tenure  is  too  short  for  all  that  a  man 
might  accomplish,  did  he  live  well  and  wisely  enough  to  do 
justice  to  all  the  powers  with  which  nature  has  endowed 
him.  I  am  myself  inclined  to  think  that  the  '  Tree  of  Life' 
exists, — perhaps  its  leaves  are  the  '  leaves  of  the  Daura,'  for 
which  that  excellent  fellow  Matt  Peke  is  looking.  Or  it 
may  be  the  '  Secta  Croa  '  !  " 

He  smiled, — and  having  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  path 
which  he  had  followed  from  the  door  of  the  "  Trusty  Man," 
he  saw  before  him  a  descending  bank,  which  sloped  into  the 

123 


124      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

highroad,  a  wide  track  white  with  thick  dust  stretching 
straight  away  for  about  a  mile  and  then  dipping  round  a 
broad  curve  of  land,  overarched  with  trees.  He  sat  down 
for  a  few  minutes  on  the  warm  grass,  giving  himself  up  to 
the  idle  pleasure  of  watching  the  birds  skimming  through 
the  clear  blue  sky, — the  bees  bouncing  in  and  out  of  the 
buttercups, — the  vari-coloured  butterflies  floating  like  blown 
flower-petals  on  the  breeze, — and  he  heard  a  distant  bell 
striking  the  half-hour  after  eleven.  He  had  noted  the  time 
when  leaving  the  "  Trusty  Man,"  otherwise  he  would  not 
have  known  it  so  exactly,  having  left  his  watch  locked  up  at 
home  in  his  private  desk  with  other  personal  trinkets  which 
would  have  been  superfluous  and  troublesome  to  him  on  his 
self-imposed  journey.  When  the  echo  of  the  bell's  one 
stroke  had  died  away  it  left  a  great  stillness  in  the  air.  The 
heat  was  increasing  as  the  day  veered  towards  noon,  and 
he  decided  that  it  would  be  as  well  to  get  on  further  down 
the  road  and  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  which  were  not 
so  very  far  off,  and  which  looked  invitingly  cool  in  their 
spreading  dark  soft  greenness.  So,  rising  from  his  brief 
rest,  he  started  again  "  on  the  tramp,"  and  soon  felt  the  full 
glare  of  the  sun,  and  the  hot  sensation  of  the  dust  about  his 
feet ;  but  he  went  on  steadily,  determining  to  make  light  of 
all  the  inconveniences  and  difficulties,  to  which  he  was  en- 
tirely unaccustomed,  but  to  which  he  had  voluntarily  ex- 
posed himself.  For  a  considerable  time  he  met  no  living 
creature ;  the  highroad  seemed  to  be  as  much  his  own  as 
though  it  were  part  of  a  private  park  or  landed  estate  be- 
longing to  him  only ;  and  it  was  not  till  he  had  nearly  accom- 
plished the  distance  which  lay  between  him  and  the  shelter 
of  the  trees,  that  he  met  a  horse  and  cart  slowly  jogging 
along  towards  the  direction  from  whence  he  had  come.  The 
man  who  drove  the  vehicle  was  half-asleep,  stupefied,  no 
doubt,  by  the  effect  of  the  hot  sun  following  on  a  possible 
"  glass  "  at  a  public-house,  but  Helmsley  called  to  him  just 
for  company's  sake. 

"  Hi !     Am  I  going  right  for  Watchett  ?  " 

The  man  opened  his  drowsing  eyes  and  yawned  ex- 
pansively. 

"Watchett?     Ay!     Williton  comes  fust." 

"Is  it  far?" 

"  Nowt's  far  to  your  kind !  "  said  the  man,  flicking  his 
whip.  "An'  ye'll  meet  a  bobby  or  so  on  the  road !  " 


On  he  went,  and  Helmsley  without  further  parley  re- 
sumed his  tramp.  Presently,  reaching  the  clump  of  trees 
he  had  seen  in  the  distance,  he  moved  into  their  refreshing1 
shade.  They  were  broad-branched  elms,  luxuriantly  full  of 
foliage,  and  the  avenue  they  formed  extended  for  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  Cool  dells  and  dingles  of  mossy  green 
sloped  down  on  one  side  of  the  road,  breaking  into  what  are 
sometimes  called  "  coombs  "  running  precipitously  towards 
the  sea-coast,  and  slackening  his  pace  a  little  he  paused, 
looking  through  a  tangle  of  shrubs  and  bracken  at  the  pale 
suggestion  of  a  glimmer  of  blue  which  he  realised  was  the 
shining  of  the  sunlit  ocean.  While  he  thus  stood,  he  fancied 
he  heard  a  little  plaintive  whine  as  of  an  animal  in  pain.  He 
listened  attentively.  The  sound  was  repeated,  and,  descend- 
ing the  shelving  bank  a  few  steps  he  sought  to  discover  the 
whereabouts  of  this  piteous  cry  for  help.  All  at  once  he 
spied  two  bright  sparkling  eyes  and  a  small  silvery  grey  head 
perking  up  at  him  through  the  leaves, — the  head  of  a  tiny 
Yorkshire  "  toy  "  terrier.  It  looked  at  him  with  eloquent 
anxiety,  and  as  he  approached  it,  it  made  an  effort  to  move, 
but  fell  back  again  with  a  faint  moan.  Gently  he  picked  it 
up, — it  was  a  rare  and  beautiful  little  creature,  but  one  of 
its  silky  forepaws  had  evidently  been  caught  in  some  trap, 
for  it  was  badly  mangled  and  bleeding.  Round  its  neck 
was  a  small  golden  collar,  something  like  a  lady's  bracelet, 
bearing  the  inscription :  "  I  am  Charlie.  Take  care  of 
me !  "  There  was  no  owner's  name  or  address,  and  the 
entreaty  "  Take  care  of  me ! "  had  certainly  not  been  com- 
plied with,  or  so  valuable  a  pet  would  not  have  been  left 
wounded  on  the  highroad.  While  Helmsley  was  examin- 
ing it,  it  ceased  whining,  and  gently  licked  his  hand.  See- 
jng  a  trickling  stream  of  water  making  its  way  through  the 
moss  and  ferns  close  by,  he  bathed  the  little  dog's  wounded 
paw  carefully  and  tied  it  up  with  a  strip  of  material  torn 
from  his  own  coat  sleeve. 

"  So  you  want  to  be  taken  care  of,  do  you,  Charlie ! "  he 
said,  patting  the  tiny  head.  "  That's  what  a  good  many 
of  us  want,  when  we  feel  hurt  and  broken  by  the  hard  ways 
of  the  world !  "  Charlie  blinked  a  dark  eye,  cocked  a  small 
soft  ear,  and  ventured  on  another  caress  of  the  kind  human 
hand  with  his  warm  little  tongue.  "  Well,  I  won't  leave  you 
to  starve  in  the  woods,  or  trust  you  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  the  police, — you  shall  come  along  with  me !  And  if  I 


126      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

see  any  advertisement  of  your  loss  I'll  perhaps  take  you  back 
to  your  owner.  But  in  the  meantime  we'll  stay  together." 

Charlie  evidently  agreed  to  this  proposition,  for  when 
Helmsley  tucked  him  cosily  under  his  arm,  he  settled  down 
comfortably  as  though  well  accustomed  to  the  position.  He 
was  certainly  nothing  of  a  weight  to  carry,  and  his  new 
owner  was  conscious  of  a  certain  pleasure  in  feeling  the 
warm,  silky  little  body  nestling  against  his  breast.  He  was 
not  quite  alone  any  more, — this  little  creature  was  a  com- 
panion,— a  something  to  talk  to,  to  caress  and  to  protect. 
He  ascended  the  bank,  and  regaining  the  highroad  resumed 
his  vagrant  way.  Noon  was  now  at  the  full,  and  the  sun's 
heat  seemed  to  create  a  silence  that  was  both  oppressive  and 
stifling.  He  walked  slowly,  and  began  to  feel  that  perhaps 
after  all  he  had  miscalculated  his  staying  powers,  and  that 
the  burden  of  old  age  would,  in  the  end,  take  vengeance 
upon  him  for  running  risks  of  fatigue  and  exhaustion  which, 
in  his  case,  were  wholly  unnecessary. 

"  Yet  if  I  were  really  poor,"  he  argued  with  himself,  "  if 
I  were  in  very  truth  a  tramp,  I  should  have  to  do  exactly 
what  I  am  doing  now.  If  one  man  can  stand  '  life  on  the 
road/  so  can  another." 

And  he  would  not  allow  his  mind  to  dwell  on  the  fact 
that  a  temperament  which  has  become  accustomed  to  every 
kind  of  comfort  and  luxury  is  seldom  fitted  to  endure  priva- 
tion. On  he  jogged  steadily,  and  by  and  by  began  to  be 
entertained  by  his  own  thoughts  as  pleasantly  as  a  poet  or 
romancist  is  entertained  by  the  fancies  which  come  and  go 
in  the  brain  with  all  the  vividness  of  dramatic  reality.  Yet 
always  he  found  himself  harking  back  to  what  he  sometimes 
called  the  "  incurability  "  of  life.  Over  and  over  again  he 
asked  himself  the  old  eternal  question:  Why  so  much 
Product  to  end  in  Waste?  Why  are  thousands  of  millions 
of  worlds,  swarming  with  life-organisms,  created  to  revolve 
in  space,  if  there  is  no  other  fate  for  them  but  final  destruc- 
tion? 

"  There  must  be  an  Afterwards !  "  he  said.  "  Otherwise 
Creation  would  not  only  be  a  senseless  joke,  but  a  wicked 
one !  Nay,  it  would  almost  be  a  crime.  To  cause  creatures 
to  be  born  into  existence  without  their  own  consent,  merely 
to  destroy  them  utterly  in  a  few  years  and  make  the  fact  of 
their  having  lived  purposeless,  would  be  worse  than  the 
dreams  of  madmen.  For  what  is  the  use  of  bringing  human 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   127 

creatures  into  the  world  to  suffer  pain,  sickness,  and  sorrow, 
if  mere  life-torture  is  all  we  can  give  them,  and  death  is  the 
only  end  ?  " 

Here  his  meditations  were  broken  in  upon  by  the  sound  of 
a  horse's  hoofs  trotting  briskly  behind  him,  and  pausing, 
he  saw  a  neat  little  cart  and  pony  coming  along,  driven  by  a 
buxom-looking  woman  with  a  brown  sun-hat  tied  on  in  the 
old-fashioned  manner  under  her  chin. 

"Would  ye  like  a  lift?"  she  asked.  "It's  mighty  warm 
walkin'." 

Helmsley  raised  his  eyes  to  the  sun-bonnet,  and  smiled  at 
the  cheerful  freckled  face  beneath  its  brim.  , 

"  You're  very  kind "  he  began. 

"  Jump  in !  "  said  the  woman.  "  I'm  taking  cream  and 
cheeses  into  Watchett,  but  it's  a  light  load,  an'  Jim  an'  me 
can  do  with  ye  that  far.  This  is  Jim." 

She  flicked  the  pony's  ears  with  her  whip  by  way  of  in- 
troducing the  animal,  and  Helmsley  clambered  up  into  the 
cart  beside  her. 

"  That's  a  nice  little  dog  you've  got,"  she  remarked,  as 
Charlie  perked  his  small  black  nose  out  from  under  his  pro- 
tector's arm  to  sniff  the  subtle  atmosphere  of  what  was  going 
to  happen  next.  "  He's  a  real  beauty !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Helmsley,  without  volunteering  any  in- 
formation as  to  how  he  had  found  the  tiny  creature,  whom 
he  now  had  no  inclination  to  part  with.  "  He  got  his  paw 
caught  in  a  trap,  so  I'm  obliged  to  carry  him." 

"  Poor  little  soul !  There's  a-many  traps  all  about  'ere, 
lots  o'  the  land  bein'  private  property.  Go  on,  Jim !  "  And 
she  shook  the  reins  on  her  pony's  neck,  thereby  causing  that 
intelligent  animal  to  start  off  at  a  pleasantly  regular  pace. 
"  I  allus  sez  that  if  the  rich  ladies  and  gentlemen  as  eats  up 
every  bit  o'  land  in  Great  Britain  could  put  traps  in  the  air 
to  catch  the  noses  of  everything  but  themselves  as  dares  to 
breathe  it,  they'd  do  it,  singin'  glory  all  the  time.  For  they 
goes  to  church  reg'lar." 

"Ah,  it's  a  wise  thing  to  be  seen  looking  good  in  public !  " 
said  Helmsley. 

The  woman  laughed. 

"  That's  right !  You  can  do  a  lot  o'  humbuggin'  if  you're 
friends  with  the  parson,  what  more  often  than  not  humbugs 
everybody  hisself.  I'm  no  church-goer,  but  I  turn  out  the 
best  cheese  an'  butter  in  these  parts,  an'  I  never  tells  no  lies 


128      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

nor  cheats  any  one  of  a  penny,  so  I  aint  worryin'  about  my 
soul,  seein'  it's  straight  with  my  neighbours." 

"Are  there  many  rich  people  living  about  here  ?  "  inquired 
Helmsley. 

"  Not  enough  to  do  the  place  real  good.  The  owners 
of  the  big  houses  are  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow, 
and  they  don't  trouble  much  over  their  tenantry.  Still  we 
rub  on  fairly  well.  None  of  us  can  ever  put  by  for  a  rainy 
day, — and  some  folk  as  is  as  hard-working  as  ever  they 
can  be,  are  bound  to  come  on  the  parish  when  they  can't 
work  no  more — no  doubt  o'  that.  You're  a  stranger  to 
these  parts  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  tramped  from  Bristol." 

The  woman  opened  her  eyes  widely. 

"  That's  a  long  way !  You  must  be  fairly  strong  for  your 
age.  Where  are  ye  wantin'  to  get  to  ?  " 

"  Cornwall." 

"  My  word !  You've  got  a  goodish  bit  to  go.  All  Devon 
lies  before  you." 

"  I  know  that.  But  I  shall  rest  here  and  there,  and  per- 
haps get  a  lift  or  two  if  I  meet  any  more  such  kind-hearted 
folk  as  yourself." 

She  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"  That's  what  we  may  call  a  bit  o'  soft  soap,"  she  said, 
"  and  I'd  advise  ye  to  keep  that  kind  o'  thing  to  your- 
self, old  man!  It  don't  go  down  with  Meg  Ross,  I  can 
tell  ye !  " 

"  Are  you  Meg  Ross  ?  "  he  asked,  amused  at  her  manner. 

"  That's  me !  I'm  known  all  over  the  countryside  for 
the  sharpest  tongue  as  ever  wagged  in  a  woman's  head. 
So  you'd  better  look  out ! " 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  you !  "  he  said  smiling. 

"  Well,  you  might  be  if  you  knew  me !  "  and  she  whipped 
up  her  pony  smartly.  "  Howsomever,  you're  old  enough 
to  be  past  hurtin'  or  bein'  hurt." 

"  That's  true  !  "  he  responded  gently. 

She  was  silent  after  this,  and  not  till  Watchett  was  reached 
did  she  again  begin  conversation.  Rattling  quickly  through 
the  little  watering-place,  which  at  this  hour  seemed  alto- 
gether deserted  or  asleep,  she  pulled  up  at  an  inn  in  the 
middle  of  the  principal  street. 

"  I've  got  an  order  to  deliver  here,"  she  said.  "  What  are 
you  going  to  do  with  yourself  ?  " 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   129 

"  Nothing  in  particular,"  he  answered,  with  a  smile.  "  I 
shall  just  take  my  little  dog  to  a  chemist's  and  get  its  paw 
dressed,  and  then  I  shall  walk  on." 

"  Don't  you  want  any  dinner  ?  " 

"Not  yet.  I  had  a  good  breakfast.  I  daresay  I'll  have 
a  glass  of  milk  presently." 

"  Well,  if  you  come  back  here  in  half  an  hour  I  can  drive 
you  on  a  little  further.  How  would  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  Very  much !    But  I'm  afraid  of  troubling  you " 

"  Oh,  you  won't  do  that ! "  said  Meg  with  a  defiant  air. 
"  No  man,  young  or  old,  has  ever  troubled  me!  I'm  not 
married,  thank  the  Lord !  " 

And  jumping  from  the  cart,  she  began  to  pull  out  sundry 
cans,  jars,  and  boxes,  while  Helmsley  standing  by  with 
the  small  Charlie  under  his  arm,  wished  he  could  help  her, 
but  felt  sure  she  would  resent  assistance  even  if  he  offered 
it.  Glancing  at  him,  she  gave  him  a  kindly  nod. 

"  Off  you  go  with  your  little  dog !  You'll  find  me  ready 
here  in  half  an  hour." 

With  that  she  turned  from  him  into  the  open  doorway 
of  the  inn,  and  Helmsley  made  his  way  slowly  along  the 
silent,  sun-baked  little  street  till  he  found  a  small  chemist's 
shop,  where  he  took  his  lately  found  canine  companion 
to  have  its  wounded  paw  examined  and  attended  to.  No 
bones  were  broken,  and  the  chemist,  a  lean,  pale,  kindly 
man,  assured  him  that  in  a  few  days  the  little  animal  would 
be  quite  well. 

"  It's  a  pretty  creature,"  he  said.    "  And  valuable  too." 

"  Yes.  I  found  it  on  the  highroad,"  said  Helmsley ;  "  and 
of  course  if  I  see  any  advertisement  out  for  it,  I'll  return 
it  to  its  owner.  But  if  no  one  claims  it  I'll  keep  it." 

"  Perhaps  it  fell  out  of  a  motor-car,"  said  the  chemist. 
"  It  looks  as  if  it  might  have  belonged  to  some  fine  lady 
who  was  too  wrapped  up  in  herself  to  take  proper  care  of 
it.  There  are  many  of  that  kind  who  come  this  way  touring 
through  Somerset  and  Devon." 

"  I  daresay  you're  right,"  and  Helmsley  gently  stroked 
the  tiny  dog's  soft  silky  coat.  "  Rich  women  will  pay  any 
amount  of  money  for  such  toy  creatures  out  of  mere  caprice, 
and  will  then  lose  them  out  of  sheer  laziness,  forgetting 
that  they  are  living  beings,  with  feelings  and  sentiments  of 
trust  and  affection  greater  sometimes  than  our  own.  How- 
ever, this  little  chap  will  be  safe  with  me  till  he  is  right- 


ISO      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

fully  claimed,  if  ever  that  happens.  I  don't  want  to  steal 
him ;  I  only  want  to  take  care  of  him." 

"  I  should  never  part  with  him  if  I  were  you,"  said  the 
chemist.  "  Those  who  were  careless  enough  to  lose  him 
deserve  their  loss." 

Helmsley  agreed,  and  left  the  shop.  Finding  a  confec- 
tioner's near  by,  he  bought  a  few  biscuits  for  his  new  pet, 
an  attention  which  that  small  animal  highly  appreciated. 
"  Charlie  "  was  hungry,  and  cracked  and  munched  the  bis- 
cuits with  exceeding  relish,  his  absurd  little  nose  becoming 
quite  moist  with  excitement  and  appetite.  Returning  pres- 
ently to  the  inn  where  he  had  left  Meg  Ross,  Helmsley 
found  that  lady  quite  ready  to  start. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,  are  you  ?  "  she  said,  smiling  pleasantly, 
"  Well,  I'm  just  on  the  move.  Jump  in  !  " 

Helmsley  hesitated  a  moment,  standing  beside  the  pony- 
cart. 

"  May  I  pay  for  my  ride  ?  "  he  said. 

"Pay?"  Meg  stuck  her  stout  arms  akimbo,  and  glanced 
him  all  over.  "  Well,  I  never !  How  much  'ave  ye  got  ?  " 

"  Two  or  three  shillings,"  he  answered. 

Meg  laughed,  showing  a  very  sound  row  of  even  white 
teeth. 

"All  right!  You  can  keep  'em!"  she  said.  "  Mebbe 
you  want  'em.  7  don't!  Now  don't  stand  haverin'  there, 
— get  in  the  cart  quick,  or  Jim'll  be  runnin'  away." 

Jim  showed  no  sign  of  this  desperate  intention,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  stood  very  patiently  waiting  till  his  passengers 
were  safely  seated,  when  he  trotted  off  at  a  great  pace, 
with  such  a  clatter  of  hoofs  and  rattle  of  wheels  as  rendered 
conversation  impossible.  But  Helmsley  was  very  content 
to  sit  in  silence,  holding  the  little  dog  "  Charlie  "  warmly 
against  his  breast,  and  watching  the  beauties  of  the  scenery 
expand  before  him  like  a  fairy  panorama,  ever  broadening 
into  fresh  glimpses  of  loveliness.  It  was  a  very  quiet  coast- 
line which  the  windings  of  the  road  now  followed, — a  fair 
and  placid  sea  shining  at  wide  intervals  between  a  lavish 
flow  of  equally  fair  and  placid  fields.  The  drive  seemed  all 
too  short,  when  at  the  corner  of  a  lane  embowered  in  trees, 
Meg  Ross  pulled  up  short. 

"  The  best  of  friends  must  part !  "  she  said.  "  I'm  right 
sorry  I  can't  take  ye  any  further.  But  down  'ere's  a  farm 
where  I  put  up  for  the  afternoon  an'  'elps  'em  through  with 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   131 

their  butter-makin',  for  there's  a  lot  o'  skeery  gals  in  the 
fam'ly  as  thinks  more  o'  doin'  their  'air  than  churnin',  an' 
doin'  the  'air  don't  bring  no  money  in,  though  mebbe  it 
might  catch  a  'usband  as  wasn't  worth  'avin'.  An'  Jim 
gets  his  food  'ere  too.  Howsomever,  I'm  real  put  about 
that  I  can't  drive  ye  a  bit  towards  Cleeve  Abbey,  for  that's 
rare  an'  fine  at  this  time  o'  year, — but  mebbe  ye're  wantin' 
to  push  on  quickly  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  must  push  on,"  rejoined  Helmsley,  as  he  got 
out  of  the  cart;  then,  standing  in  the  road,  he  raised  his 
cap  to  her.  "  And  I'm  very  grateful  to  you  for  helping 
me  along  so  far,  at  the  hottest  time  of  the  day  too.  It's 
most  kind  of  you !  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  any  thanks ! "  said  Meg,  smiling. 
"  I'm  rather  sweet  on  old  men,  seem'  old  age  aint  their  fault 
even  if  trampin'  the  road  is.  You'd  best  keep  on  the  straight 
line  now,  till  you  come  to  Blue  Anchor.  That's  a  nice  little 
village,  and  you'll  find  an  inn  there  where  you  can  get  a 
night's  lodging  cheap.  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  stay  much 
round  Cleeve  after  sundown,  for  there's  a  big  camp  of  gypsies 
about  there,  an'  they're  a  rough  lot,  pertikly  a  man  they 
calls  Tom  o'  the  Gleam." 

Helmsley  smiled. 

"  I  know  Tom  o'  the  Gleam,"  he  said.  "  He's  a  friend 
of  mine." 

Meg  Ross  opened  her  round,  bright  brown  eyes. 

"Is  he?  Dear  life,  if  I'd  known  that,  I  mightn't  'ave 
been  so  ready  to  give  you  a  ride  with  me !  "  she  said,  and 
laughed.  "  Not  that  I'm  afraid  of  Tom,  though  he's  a  queer 
customer.  I've  given  a  good  many  glasses  of  new  milk  to 
his  '  kiddie,'  as  he  calls  that  little  lad  of  his,  so  I  expect 
I'm  fairly  in  his  favour." 

"  I've  never  seen  his  '  kiddie,'  "  said  Helmsley.  "  What 
is  the  boy  like?" 

"  A  real  fine  little  chap ! "  said  Meg,  with  heartiness  and 
feeling.  "  I'm  not  a  crank  on  children,  seein'  most  o'  them's 
muckers  an'  trouble  from  mornin'  to  night,  but  if  it  'ad 
pleased  the  Lord  as  I  should  wed,  I  shouldn't  'a  wished 
for  a  better  specimen  of  a  babe  than  Tom's  kiddie.  Pity 
the  mother  died  !  " 

"  When  the  child  was  born  ?  "  queried  Helmsley  gently. 

"  No — oh  no !  " — and  Meg's  eyes  grew  thoughtful.  "  She 
got  through  her  trouble  all  right,  but  'twas  about  a  year 


132      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

or  eighteen  months  arterwards  that  she  took  to  pinin'  like, 
an'  droopin'  down  just  like  the  poppies  droops  in  the  corn 
when  the  sun's  too  fierce  upon  'em.  She  used  to  sit  by  the 
roadside  o'  Sundays,  with  a  little  red  handkerchief  tied 
across  her  shoulders,  and  all  her  dark  'air  tumblin'  about 
Jer  face,  an'  she  used  to  look  up  with  her  great  big  black 
eyes  an'  smile  at  the  finicky  fine  church  misses  as  come 
mincin'  an'  smirkin'  along,  an'  say :  '  Tell  your  fortune, 
lady?'  She  was  the  prettiest  creature  I  ever  saw — not  a 
good  lass — no ! — nobody  could  say  she  was  a  good  lass, 
for  she  went  to  Tom  without  church  or  priest,  but  she 
loved  him  an'  was  faithful.  An'  she  just  worshipped  her 
baby."  Here  Meg  paused  a  moment.  "  Tom  was  a  real 
danger  to  the  country  when  she  died,"  she  presently  went 
on.  "  He  used  to  run  about  the  woods  like  a  madman, 
calling  her  to  come  back  to  'im,  an'  threatenin'  to  murder 
any  one  who  came  nigh  'im ; — then,  by  and  by,  he  took  to 
the  kiddie,  an'  he's  steadier  now." 

There  was  something  in  the  narration  of  this  little  history 
that  touched  Helmsley  too  deeply  for  comment,  and  he  was 
silent. 

"  Well !  " — and  Meg  gave  her  pony's  reins  a  shake — "  I 
must  be  off!  Sorry  to  leave  ye  standin'  in  the  middle  o' 
the  road  like,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  Mind  you  keep  the 
little  dog  safe ! — and  take  a  woman's  advice — don't  walk 
too  far  or  too  fast  in  one  day.  Good  luck  t'  ye ! " 

Another  shake  of  the  reins,  and  "  Jim  "  turned  briskly 
down  the  lane.  Once  Meg  looked  back  and  waved  her 
hand, — then  the  green  trees  closed  in  upon  her  disappearing 
vehicle,  and  Helmsley  was  again  alone,  save  for  "  Charlie," 
who,  instinctively  aware  that  some  friend  had  left  them, 
licked  his  master's  hand  confidentially,  as  much  as  to  say 
"  I  am  still  with  you."  The  air  was  cooler  now,  and  Helms- 
ley  walked  on  with  comparative  ease  and  pleasure.  His 
thoughts  were  very  busy.  He  was  drawing  comparisons 
between  the  conduct  of  the  poor  and  the  rich  to  one  another, 
greatly  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  latter  class. 

"  If  a  wealthy  man  has  a  carriage,"  he  soliloquised,  "  how 
seldom  will  he  offer  it  or  think  of  offering  its  use  to  any 
one  of  his  acquaintances  who  may  be  less  fortunate !  How 
rarely  will  he  even  say  a  kind  word  to  any  man  who  is 
'  down  ' !  Do  I  not  know  this  myself !  I  remember  well 
on  one  occasion  when  I  wished  to  send  my  carriage  for  the 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   133 

use  of  a  poor  fellow  who  had  once  been  employed  in  my 
office,  but  who  had  been  compelled  to  give  up  work,  owing 
to  illness,  my  secretary  advised  me  not  to  show  him  this 
mark  of  sympathy  and  attention.  '  He  will  only  take  it 
as  his  right,'  I  was  assured, — '  these  sort  of  men  are  always 
ungrateful/  And  I  listened  to  my  secretary's  advice — more 
fool  I !  For  it  should  have  been  nothing  to  me  whether 
the  man  was  ungrateful  or  not;  the  thing  was  to  do  the 
good,  and  let  the  result  be  what  it  might.  Now  this  poor 
Meg  Ross  has  no  carriage,  but  such  vehicle  as  she  possesses 
she  shares  with  one  whom  she  imagines  to  be  in  need.  No 
other  motive  has  moved  her  save  womanly  pity  for  lonely 
age  and  infirmity.  She  has  taught  me  a  lesson  by  simply 
offering  a  kindness  without  caring  how  it  might  be  received 
or  rewarded.  Is  not  that  a  lovely  trait  in  human  nature? 
— one  which  I  have  never  as  yet  discovered  in  what  is 
called  *  swagger  society ' !  When  I  was  in  the  hey-dey  of 
my  career,  and  money  was  pouring  in  from  all  my  business 
'  deals  '  like  water  from  a  never-ending  main,  I  had  a  young 
Scotsman  for  a  secretary,  as  close-fisted  a  fellow  as  ever 
was,  who  managed  to  lose  me  the  chance  of  doing  a  great 
many  kind  actions.  More  than  that,  whenever  I  was  likely 
to  have  any  real  friends  whom  I  could  confidently  trust, 
and  who  wanted  nothing  from  me  but  affection  and  sincerity, 
he  succeeded  in  shaking  off  the  hold  they  had  upon  me. 
Of  course  I  know  now  why  he  did  this, — it  was  in  order 
that  he  himself  might  have  his  grip  of  me  more  securely, 
but  at  that  time  I  was  unsuspicious,  and  believed  the  best 
of  every  one.  Yes!  I  honestly  thought  people  were 
honest, — I  trusted  their  good  faith,  with  the  result  that  I 
found  out  the  utter  falsity  of  their  pretensions.  And  here 
I  am, — old  and  nearing  the  end  of  my  tether — more  friend- 
less than  when  I  first  began  to  make  my  fortune,  with  the 
certain  knowledge  that  not  a  soul  has  ever  cared  or  cares 
for  me  except  for  what  can  be  got  out  of  me  in  the  way 
of  hard  cash !  I  have  met  with  more  real  kindness  from  the 
rough  fellows  at  the  '  Trusty  Man,'  and  from  the  '  Trusty 
Man's '  hostess,  Miss  Tranter,  and  now  from  this  good 
woman  Meg  Ross,  than  has  ever  been  offered  to  me  by 
those  who  know  I  am  rich,  and  who  have  '  used '  me 
accordingly.  " 

Here,  coming  to  a  place  where  two  cross-roads  met,  he 
paused,  looking  about  him.     The  afternoon  was  declining. 


184      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

and  the  loveliness  of  the  landscape  was  intensified  by  a  mel- 
low softness  in  the  sunshine,  which  deepened  the  rich  green 
of  the  trees  and  wakened  an  opaline  iridescence  in  the  sea. 
A  sign-post  on  one  hand  bore  the  direction  "  To  Cleeve 
Abbey,"  and  the  road  thus  indicated  wound  upward  some- 
what steeply,  disappearing  amid  luxuriant  verdure  which 
everywhere  crowned  the  higher  summits  of  the  hills.  While 
he  yet  stood,  looking  at  the  exquisitely  shaded  masses  of 
foliage  which,  like  festal  garlands,  adorned  and  over-hung 
this  ascent,  the  discordant  "  hoot "  of  a  motor-horn  sounded 
on  the  stillness,  and  sheer  down  the  winding  way  came  at 
a  tearing  pace  the  motor  vehicle  itself.  It  was  a  large, 
luxurious  car,  and  pounded  along  with  tremendous  speed, 
swerving  at  the  bottom  of  the  declivity  with  so  sharp  a 
curve  as  to  threaten  an  instant  overturn,  but,  escaping  this 
imminent  peril  by  almost  a  hairsbreadth,  it  dashed  onward 
straight  ahead  in  a  cloud  of  dust  that  for  two  or  three  min- 
utes entirely  blurred  and  darkened  the  air.  Half-blinded 
and  choked  by  the  rush  of  its  furious  passage  past  him, 
Helmsley  could  only  just  barely  discern  that  the  car  was 
occupied  by  two  men,  the  one  driving,  the  other  sitting 
beside  the  driver, — and  shading  his  eyes  from  the  sun,  he 
strove  to  track  its  way  as  it  flew  down  the  road,  but  in  less 
than  a  minute  it  was  out  of  sight. 

''  There's  not  much  '  speed  limit '  in  that  concern !  "  he 
said,  half-aloud,  still  gazing  after  it.  "  I  call  such  driving 
recklessly  wicked!  If  I  could  have  seen  the  number  of 
that  car,  I'd  have  given  information  to  the  police.  But 
numbers  on  motors  are  no  use  when  such  a  pace  is  kept 
up,  and  the  thick  dust  of  a  dry  summer  is  whirled  up  by 
the  wheels.  It's  fortunate  the  road  is  clear.  Yes,  Charlie !  " 
— this,  as  he  saw  his  canine  foundling's  head  perk  out  from 
under  his  arm,  with  a  little  black  nose  all  a-quiver  with 
anxiety, — "  it's  just  as  well  for  you  that  you've  got  a 
wounded  paw  and  can't  run  too  far  for  the  present  !  If 
you  had  been  in  the  way  of  that  car  just  now,  your  little 
life  would  have  been  ended !  " 

Charlie  pricked  his  pretty  ears,  and  listened,  or  appeared 
tc  listen,  but  had  evidently  no  forebodings  about  himself 
or  his  future.  He  was  quite  at  home,  and,  after  the  fashion 
of  dogs,  who  are  often  so  much  wiser  than  men,  argued  that 
being  safe  and  comfortable  now,  there  was  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  be  safe  and  comfortable  always.  And  Helmsley 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   135 

presently  bent  himself  to  steady  walking,  and  got  on  well, 
only  pausing  to  get  some  tea  and  bread  and  butter  at  a 
cottage  by  the  roadside,  where  a  placard  on  the  gate  in- 
timated that  such  refreshments  were  to  be  had  within.  Nev- 
ertheless, he  was  a  slow  pedestrian,  and  what  with  linger- 
ing here  and  there  for  brief  rests  by  the  way,  the  sun  had 
sunk  fully  an  hour  before  he  managed  to  reach  Blue  Anchor, 
the  village  of  which  Meg  Ross  had  told  him.  It  was  a 
pretty,  peaceful  place,  set  among  wide  stretches  of  beach, 
extending  for  miles  along  the  margin  of  the  waters,  and 
the  mellow  summer  twilight  showed  little  white  wreaths 
of  foam  crawling  lazily  up  on  the  sand  in  glittering  curves 
that  gleamed  like  snow  for  a  moment  and  then  melted  softly 
away  into  the  deepening  darkness.  He  stopped  at  the  first 
ale-house,  a  low-roofed,  cottage-like  structure  embowered 
in  clambering  flowers.  It  had  a  side  entrance  which  led  into 
a  big,  rambling  stableyard,  and  happening  to  glance  that 
way  he  perceived  a  vehicle  standing  there,  which  he  at 
once  recognised  as  the  large  luxurious  motor-car  that  had 
dashed  past  him  at  such  a  tearing  pace  near  Cleeve.  The 
inn  door  was  open,  and  the  bar  faced  the  road,  exhibiting 
a  brave  show  of  glittering  brass  taps,  pewter  tankards,  pol- 
ished glasses  and  many-coloured  bottles,  all  these  things 
being  presided  over  by  a  buxom  matron,  who  was  not  only 
an  agreeable  person  to  look  at  in  herself,  but  who  was  as- 
sisted by  two  pretty  daughters.  These  young  women,  wear- 
ing spotless  white  cuffs  and  aprons,  dispensed  the  beer  to 
the  customers,  now  and  then  relieving  the  monotony  of 
this  occupation  by  carrying  trays  of  bread  and  cheese  and 
meat  sandwiches  round  the  wide  room  of  which  the  bar  was 
a  part,  evidently  bent  on  making  the  general  company  stay 
as  long  as  possible,  if  fascinating  manners  and  smiling  eyes 
could  work  any  detaining  influence.  Helmsley  asked  for 
a  glass  of  ale  and  a  plate  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  on  being 
supplied  with  these  refreshments,  sat  down  at  a  small  table 
in  a  corner  well  removed  from  the  light,  where  he  could  see 
without  being  seen.  He  did  not  intend  to  inquire  for  a 
night's  lodging  yet.  He  wished  first  to  ascertain  for  him- 
self the  kind  of  people  who  frequented  the  place.  The  fear 
of  discovery  always  haunted  him,  and  the  sight  of  that  costly 
motor-car  standing  in  the  stable-yard  had  caused  him  to 
feel  a  certain  misgiving  lest  any  one  of  marked  wealth  or 
position  should  turn  out  to  be  its  owner.  In  such  a  case, 


136      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

the  world  being  proverbially  small,  and  rich  men  being  in 
the  minority,  it  was  just  possible  that  he,  David  Helmsley, 
even  clad  as  he  was  in  workman's  clothes  and  partially  dis- 
guised in  features  by  the  growth  of  a  beard,  might  be 
recognised.  With  this  idea,  he  kept  himself  well  back  in 
the  shadow,  listening  attentively  to  the  scraps  of  desultory 
talk  among  the  dozen  or  so  of  men  in  the  room,  while 
carefully  maintaining  an  air  of  such  utter  fatigue  as  to  ap- 
pear indifferent  to  all  that  passed  around  him.  Nobody 
noticed  him,  for  which  he  was  thankful.  And  presently, 
when  he  became  accustomed  to  the  various  contending 
voices,  which  in  their  changing  tones  of  gruff  or  gentle, 
quick  or  slow,  made  a  confused  din  upon  his  ears,  he  found 
out  that  the  general  conversation  was  chiefly  centred  on  one 
subject,  that  of  the  very  motor-car  whose  occupants  he  de- 
sired to  shun. 

"  Serve  'em  right !  "  growled  one  man.  "  Serve  'em  right 
to  'ave  broke  down!  'Ope  the  darned  thing's  broke  alto- 
gether ! " 

"  You  shouldn't  say  that, — 'taint  Christian,"  expostulated 
his  neighbour  at  the  same  table.  "  Them  cars  cost  a  heap 
o'  money,  from  eight  'undred  to  two  thousand  pounds,  I've 
'eerd  tell." 

"  Who  cares !  "  retorted  the  other.  "  Them  as  can  pay 
a  fortin  on  a  car  to  swish  'emselves  about  in,  should  be 
made  to  keep  on  payin'  till  they're  cleaned  out  o'  money 
for  good  an'  all.  The  road's  a  reg'lar  hell  since  them 
engines  started  along  cuttin'  everything  to  pieces.  There 
aint  a  man,  woman,  nor  child  what's  safe  from  the  moneyed 
murderers." 

"  Oh  come,  I  say !  "  ejaculated  a  big,  burly  young  fellow 
in  corduroys.  "  Moneyed  murderers  is  going  a  bit  too 
strong !  " 

"  No  'taint !  "  said  the  first  man  who  had  spoken.  "  That's 
what  the  motor-car  folks  are — no  more  nor  less.  Only 
t?  other  day  in  Taunton,  a  woman  as  was  the  life  an'  soul 
of  'er  'usband  an'  childern,  was  knocked  down  by  a  car 
as  big  as  a  railway  truck.  It  just  swept  'er  off  the  curb 
like  a  bundle  o'  rags.  She  picked  'erself  up  again 
an'  walked  'ome,  tremblin'  a  little,  an'  not  knowin'  rightly 
what  'ad  chanced  to  'er,  an'  in  less  than  an  hour  she  was 
dead.  An'  what  did  they  say  at  the  inquest?  Just  '  death 
from  shock' — an'  no  more.  For  them  as  owned  the  mur- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   137 

derin'  car  was  proprietors  o'  a  big  brewery,  and  the  coroner 
hisself  'ad  shares  in  it.  That's  'ow  justice  is  done  now- 
adays ! " 

"  Yes,  we's  an  obligin'  lot,  we  poor  folks,"  observed  a 
little  man  in  the  rough  garb  of  a  cattle-driver,  drawing  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth  as  he  spoke.  "  We  lets  the  rich  ride 
over  us  on  rubber  tyres  an'  never  sez  a  word  on  our  own 
parts,  but  trusts  to  the  law  for  doin'  the  same  to  a  million- 
aire as  'twould  to  a  beggar, — but,  Lord ! — don't  we  see  every 
day  as  'ow  the  millionaire  gets  off  easy  while  the  beggar 
goes  to  prison?  There  used  to  be  justice  in  old  England, 
but  the  time  for  that's  gone  past." 

"  There's  as  much  justice  in  England  as  you'll  ever  get 
anywheres  else ! "  interrupted  the  hostess  at  the  bar,  nod- 
ding cheerfully  at  the  men,  and  smiling, — "  And  as  for  the 
motor-cars,  they  bring  custom  to  my  house,  and  I  don't 
grumble  at  anything  which  does  me  and  mine  a  good  turn. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  a  breakdown  in  that  big  motor  stand- 
ing outside  in  the  stableyard,  I  shouldn't  have  had  two  gen- 
tlemen staying  in  my  best  rooms  to-night.  I  never  find 
fault  with  money !  " 

She  laughed  and  nodded  again  in  the  pleasantest  manner. 
A  slow  smile  went  round  among  the  men, — it  was  impossible 
not  to  smile  in  response  to  the  gay  good-humour  expressed 
on  such  a  beaming  countenance. 

"  One  of  them's  a  lord,  too,"  she  added.  "  Quite  a  young 
fellow,  just  come  into  his  title,  I  suppose."  And  referring 
to  her  day-book,  she  ran  her  plump  finger  down  the  various 
entries.  "  I've  got  his  name  here — Wrotham, — Lord  Regin- 
ald Wrotham." 

"  Wrotham  ?  That  aint  a  name  known  in  these  parts," 
said  the  man  in  corduroys.  "  Wheer  does  'e  come 
from?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "  And  I  don't  very  much 
care.  It's  enough  for  me  that  he's  here  and  spending 


money 


"Where's  his  ehauffy?"  inquired  a  lad,  lounging  near 
the  bar. 

"  He  hasn't  got  one.  He  drives  his  car  himself.  He's 
got  a  friend  with  him — a  Mr.  James  Brookfield." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Helmsley  drew  further 
back  into  the  corner  where  he  sat,  and  restrained  the  little 
dog  Charlie  from  perking  its  inquisitive  head  out  too  far, 


138      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

lest  its  beauty  should  attract  undesirable  attention.  His 
nervous  misgivings  concerning  the  owner  of  the  motor-car 
had  not  been  entirely  without  foundation,  for  both  Reginald 
Wrotham  and  James  Brookfield  were  well  known  to  him. 
Wrotham's  career  had  been  a  sufficiently  disgraceful  one 
ever  since  he  had  entered  his  teens, — he  was  a  modern 
degenerate  of  the  worst  type,  and  though  his,coming-of-age 
and  the  assumption  of  his  family  title  had  caused  certain 
time-servers  to  enrol  themselves  among  his  flatterers  and 
friends,  there  were  very  few  decent  houses  where  so  soiled 
a  member  of  the  aristocracy  as  he  was  could  find  even  a 
semblance  of  toleration.  James  Brookfield  was  a  proprietor 
of  newspapers  as  well  as  a  "  something  in  the  City,"  and  if 
Helmsley  had  been  asked  to  qualify  that  "  something  "  by 
a  name,  he  would  have  found  a  term  by  no  means  compli- 
mentary to  the  individual  in  question.  Wrotham  and  Brook- 
field  were  always  seen  together, — they  were  brothers  in 
every  sort  of  social  iniquity  and  licentiousness,  and  an  at- 
tempt on  Brookfield's  part  to  borrow  some  thousands  of 
pounds  for  his  "  lordly "  patron  from  Helmsley,  had  re- 
sulted in  the  latter  giving  the  would-be  borrower's  go- 
between  such  a  strong  piece  of  his  mind  as  he  was  not  likely 
to  forget.  And  now  Helmsley  was  naturally  annoyed  to 
find  that  these  two  abandoned  rascals  were  staying  at  the 
very  inn  where  he,  in  his  character  of  a  penniless  wayfarer, 
had  hoped  to  pass  a  peaceful  night;  however,  he  resolved 
to  avoid  all  danger  and  embarrassment  by  leaving  the  place 
directly  he  had  finished  his  supper,  and  going  in  search  of 
some  more  suitable  lodgment.  Meanwhile,  the  hum  of  con- 
versation grew  louder  around  him,  and  opinion  ran  high 
on  the  subject  of  "  the  right  of  the  road." 

"  The  roads  are  made  for  the  people,  sure-ly ! "  said  one 
of  a  group  of  men  standing  near  the  largest  table  in  the 
room — "  And  the  people  'as  the  right  to  'xpect  safety  to 
life  an'  limb  when  they  uses  'em." 

"  Well,  the  motors  can  put  forward  the  same  claim," 
retorted  another.  "  Motor  folks  are  people  too,  an'  they 
can  say,  if  they  likes,  that  if  roads  is  made  for  people,  they're 
made  for  them  as  well  as  t'  others,  and  they  expects  to 
be  safe  on  'em  with  their  motors  at  whatever  pace  they 
travels." 

"  Go  'long !  "  exclaimed  the  cattle-driver,  who  had  before 
taken  part  in  the  discussion — "  Aint  we  got  to  take  cows 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   139 

an'  sheep  an'  'osses  by  the  road?  An'  if  a  car  comes  along 
at  the  rate  o'  forty  or  fifty  miles  an  hour,  what's  to  be 
done  wi'  the  animals?  An'  if  they're  not  to  be  on  the  road, 
which  way  is  they  to  be  took  ?  " 

"  Them  motors  ought  to  have  roads  o'  their  own  like 
the  railways,"  said  a  quiet-looking  grey-haired  man,  who 
was  the  carrier  of  the  district.  "  When  the  steam-engine 
was  invented  it  wasn't  allowed  to  go  tearin'  along  the  pub- 
lic highway.  They  'ad  to  make  roads  for  it,  an'  lay  tracks, 
and  they  should  do  the  same  for  motors  which  is  gettin' 
just  as  fast  an'  as  dangerous  as  steam-engines." 

"  Yes,  an'  with  makin'  new  roads  an'  layin'  tracks,  spoil 
the  country  for  good  an'  all !  "  said  the  man  in  corduroys 
— "  An'  alter  it  so  that  there  aint  a  bit  o'  peace  or  comfort 
left  in  the  land!  Level  the  hills  an'  cut  down  the  trees — 
pull  up  the  hedges  an'  scare  away  all  the  singin'  birds,  till 
the  hull  place  looks  like  a  football  field ! — all  to  please  a  few 
selfish  rich  men  who'd  be  better  dead  than  livin' !  A  fine 
thing  for  England  that  would  be !  " 

At  that  moment,  there  was  the  noise  of  an  opening  door, 
and  the  hostess,  with  an  expressive  glance  at  her  customers, 
held  up  her  finger  warningly. 

"  Hush,  please !  "  she  said.  "  The  gentlemen  are  com- 
ing out." 

A  sudden  pause  ensued.  The  men  looked  round  upon  one 
another,  half  sheepishly,  half  sullenly,  and  their  growling 
voices  subsided  into  a  murmur.  The  hostess  settled  the 
bow  at  her  collar  more  becomingly,  and  her  two  pretty 
daughters  feigned  to  be  deeply  occupied  with  some  drawn 
thread  work.  David  Helmsley,  noting  everything  that  was 
going  on  from  his  coign  of  vantage,  recognised  at  once 
the  dissipated,  effeminate-looking  young  man,  who,  stepping 
out  of  a  private  room  which  opened  on  a  corridor  apparently 
leading  to  the  inner  part  of  the  house,  sauntered  lazily  up 
to  the  bar  and,  resting  his  arm  upon  its  oaken  counter, 
smiled  condescendingly,  not  to  say  insolently,  upon  the 
women  who  stood  behind  it.  There  was  no  mistaking  him, 
— it  was  the  same  Reginald  Wrotham  whose  scandals  in 
society  had  broken  his  worthy  father's  heart,  and  who  now, 
succeeding  to  a  hitherto  unblemished  title,  was  doing  his 
best  to  load  it  with  dishonour.  He  was  followed  by  his 
friend  Brookfield, — a  heavily-built,  lurching  sort  of  man, 
with  a  nose  reddened  by  strong  drink,  and  small  lascivious 


140      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

eyes  which  glittered  dully  in  his  head  like  the  eyes  of  a 
poisonous  tropical  beetle.  The  hush  among  the  "  lower  " 
class  of  company  at  the  inn  deepened  into  the  usual  stupid 
awe  which  at  times  so  curiously  affects  untutored  rustics 
who  are  made  conscious  of  the  presence  of  a  "  lord."  Said 
a  friend  of  the  present  writer's  to  a  waiter  in  a  country 
hotel  where  one  of  these  "  lords  "  was  staying  for  a  few 
days :  "  I  want  a  letter  to  catch  to-night's  post,  but  I'm 
afraid  the  mail  has  gone  from  the  hotel.  Could  you  send 
some  one  to  the  post-office  with  it  ?  "  "  Oh  yes,  sir !  "  replied 
the  waiter  grandiloquently.  "  The  servant  of  the  Lord  will 
take  it !  "  Pitiful  beyond  most  piteous  things  is  the  grov- 
elling tendency  of  that  section  of  human  nature  which  has 
not  yet  been  educated  sufficiently  to  lift  itself  up  above 
temporary  trappings  and  ornaments;  pitiful  it  is  to  see 
men,  gifted  in  intellect,  or  distinguished  for  bravery,  flinch 
and  cringe  before  one  of  their  own  flesh  and  blood,  who, 
having  neither  cleverness  nor  courage,  but  only  a  Title, 
presumes  upon  that  foolish  appendage  so  far  as  to  consider 
himself  superior  to  both  valour  and  ability.  As  well  might 
a  stuffed  boar's  head  assume  a  superiority  to  other  comesti- 
bles because  decorated  by  the  cook  with  a  paper  frill  and 
bow  of  ribbon !  The  atmosphere  which  Lord  Reginald 
Wrotham  brought  with  him  into  the  common-room  of  the 
bar  was  redolent  of  tobacco-smoke  and  whisky,  yet,  judg- 
ing from  the  various  propitiatory,  timid,  anxious,  or  servile 
looks  cast  upon  him  by  all  and  sundry,  it  might  have  been 
fragrant  and  sacred  incense  wafted  from  the  altars  of  the 
goddess  Fortune  to  her  waiting  votaries.  Helmsley's  spirit 
rose  up  in  contempt  against  the  effete  dandy  as  he  watched 
him  leaning  carelessly  against  the  counter,  twirling  his 
thin  sandy  moustache,  and  talking  to  his  hostess  merely  for 
the  sake  of  offensively  ogling  her  two  daughters. 

"Charming  old  place  you  have  here! — charming!" 
drawled  his  lordship.  "  Perfect  dream !  Love  to  pass  all 
my  days  in  such  a  delightful  spot !  'Pon  my  life !  Awful 
luck  for  us,  the  motor  breaking  down,  or  we  never  should 
have  stopped  at  such  a  jolly  place,  don't-cher-know.  Should 
we,  Brookfield?" 

Brookfield,  gently  scratching  a  pimple  on  his  fat,  clean- 
shaven face,  smiled  knowingly. 

"  Couldn't  have  stopped !  "  he  declared.  "  We  were  doing 
a  record  run.  But  we  should  have  missed  a  great  deal, — 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   141 

a  great  deal !  "  And  he  emitted  a  soft  chuckle.  "  Not  only 
the  place,— but !" 

He  waved  his  hand  explanatorily,  with  a  slight  bow, 
which  implied  an  unspoken  compliment  to  the  looks  of  the 
mistress  of  the  inn  and  her  family.  One  of  the  young 
women  blushed  and  peeped  slyly  up  at  him.  He  returned 
the  glance  with  interest. 

"  May  I  ask,"  pursued  Lord  Wrotham,  with  an  amicable 
leer,  "the  names  of  your  two  daughters,  Madam?  They've 
been  awfully  kind  to  us  broken-down-travellers — should  just 
like  to  know  the  difference  between  them.  Like  two  roses 
on  one  stalk,  don't-cher-know !  Can't  tell  which  is  which !  " 

The  mother  of  the  girls  hesitated  a  moment.  She  was 
not  quite  sure  that  she  liked  the  "  tone  "  of  his  lordship's 
speech.  Finally  she  replied  somewhat  stiffly: — 

"  My  eldest  daughter  is  named  Elizabeth,  my  lord,  and 
her  sister  is  Grace." 

"  Elizabeth  and  Grace !  Charming !  "  murmured  Wro- 
tham, leaning  a  little  more  confidentially  over  the  counter 
— "  Now  which — which  is  Grace  ?  " 

At  that  moment  a  tall,  shadowy  form  darkened  the  open 
doorway  of  the  inn,  and  a  man  entered,  carrying  in  his  arms 
a  small  oblong  bundle  covered  with  a  piece  of  rough  horse- 
cloth. Placing  his  burden  down  on  a  vacant  bench,  he 
pushed  his  cap  from  his  brows  and  stared  wildly  about 
him.  Every  one  looked  at  him, — some  with  recognition, 
others  in  alarm, — and  Helmsley,  compelled  as  he  was  to  keep 
himself  out  of  the  general  notice  in  his  corner,  almost  started 
to  his  feet  with  an  involuntary  pry  of  amazement.  For  it 
was  Tom  o'  the  Gleam. 


CHAPTER     X 

TOM  o'  THE  GLEAM, — Tom,  with  his  clothes  torn  and  cov- 
ered with  dust, — Tom,  changed  suddenly  to  a  haggard  and 
terrible  unlikeness  of  himself,  his  face  drawn  and  withered, 
its  healthy  bronze  colour  whitened  to  a  sickly  livid  hue, — 
Tom,  with  such  an  expression  of  dazed  and  stupid  horror 
in  his  eyes  as  to  give  the  impression  that  he  was  heavily 
in  drink,  and  dangerous. 

"Well,  mates!"  he  said  thickly— "  A  fine  night  and  a 
clear  moon !  " 

No  one  answered  him.     He  staggered  up  to  the  bar. 
The  hostess  looked  at  him  severely. 
,     "  Now,  Tom,  what's  the  matter?  "  she  said. 

He  straightened  himself,  and,  throwing  back  his  shoulders 
as  though  parrying  a  blow,  forced  a  smile. 

"  Nothing !  A  touch  of  the  sun !  "  A  strong  shudder  ran 
through  his  limbs,  and  his  teeth  chattered, — then  suddenly 
leaning  forward  on  the  counter,  he  whispered :  "  I'm  not 
drunk,  mother! — for  God's  sake  don't  think  it! — I'm  ill. 
Don't  you  see  I'm  ill? — I'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute, — give 
me  a  drop  of  brandy !  " 

She  fixed  her  candid  gaze  full  upon  him.  She  had  known 
him  well  for  years,  and  not  only  did  she  know  him,  but, 
rough  character  as  he  was,  she  liked  and  respected  him. 
Looking  him  squarely  in  the  face  she  saw  at  once  that 
he  was  speaking  the  truth.  He  was  not  drunk.  He  was 
ill, — very  ill.  The  strained  anguish  on  his  features  proved  it. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  come  inside  the  bar  and  sit  down  ?  " 
she  suggested,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  No,  thanks — I'd  rather  not.    I'll  stand  just  here." 

She  gave  him  the  brandy  he  had  asked  for.  He  sipped 
it  slowly,  and,  pushing  his  cap  further  off  his  brows,  turned 
his  dark  eyes,  full  of  smouldering  fire,  upon  Lord  Wrotham 
and  his  friend,  both  of  whom  had  succeeded  in  getting  up 
a  little  conversation  with  the  hostess's  younger  daughter, 
the  girl  named  Grace.  Her  sister,  Elizabeth,  put  down  her 
needlework,  and  watched  Tom  with  sudden  solicitude.  An 
instinctive  dislike  of  Lord  Wrotham  and  his  companion 

142 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   143 

caused  her  to  avoid  looking  their  way,  though  she  heard 
every  word  they  were  saying, — and  her  interest  became 
centred  on  the  handsome  gypsy,  whose  pallid  features  and 
terrible  expression  filled  her  with  a  vague  alarm. 

"  It  would  be  awfully  jolly  of  you  if  you'd  come  for  a 
spin  in  my  motor,"  said  his  lordship,  twirling  his  sandy 
moustache  and  conveying  a  would-be  amorous  twinkle  into 
his  small  brown-green  eyes  for  the  benefit  of  the  girl  he 
was  ogling.  "  Beastly  bore  having  a  break-down,  but  it's 
nothing  serious — half  a  day's  work  will  put  it  all  right,  and 
if  you  and  your  sister  would  like  a  turn  before  we  go  on 
from  here,  I  shall  be  charmed.  We  can't  do  the  record 
business  now — not  this  time, — so  it  doesn't  matter  how 
long  we  linger  in  this  delightful  spot." 

"  Especially  in  such  delightful  company ! "  added  his 
friend,  Brookfield.  "  I'm  going  to  take  a  photograph  of 
this  house  to-morrow,  and  perhaps  " — here  he  smiled  com- 
placently— "  perhaps  Miss  Grace  and  Miss  Elizabeth  will 
consent  to  come  into  the  picture  ?  " 

"  Ya-as— ya-as !— oh  do!"  drawled  Wrotham.  "Of 
course  they  will!  You  will,  I'm  sure,  Miss  Grace!  This 
gentleman,  Mr.  Brookfield,  has  got  nearly  all  the  pictorials 
under  his  thumb,  and  he'll  put  your  portrait  in  them  as 
'  The  Beauty  of  Somerset/  won't  you,  Brookfield  ?  " 

Brookfield  laughed,  a  pleased  laugh  of  conscious  power. 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  he  said.  "  You  have  only  to  express 
the  wish  and  the  thing  is  done !  " 

Wrotham  twirled  his  moustache  again. 

"  Awful  fun  having  a  friend  on  the  press,  don't-cher- 
know !  "  he  went  on.  "  I  get  all  my  lady  acquaintances 
into  the  papers, — makes  'em  famous  in  a  day !  The  women 
I  like  are  made  to  look  beautiful,  and  those  I  don't  like  are 
turned  into  frights — positive  old  horrors,  give  you  my  life ! 
Easily  done,  you  know! — touch  up  a  negative  whichever 
way  you  fancy,  and  there  you  are ! " 

,  The  girl  Grace  lifted  her  eyes, — very  pretty  sparkling 
eyes  they  were, — and  regarded  him  with  a  mutinous  air 
of  contempt. 

"  It  must  be  '  awfully  '  amusing !  "  she  said  sarcastically. 

"  It  is ! — give  you  my  life !  "  And  his  lordship  played 
with  a  charm  in  the  shape  of  an  enamelled  pig  which 
dangled  at  his  watch-chain.  "  It  pleases  all  parties  except 
those  whom  I  want  to  rub  up  the  wrong  way.  I've  made 


144      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

many  a  woman's  hair  curl,  I  can  tell  you !  You'll  be  my 
'  Somersetshire  beauty/  won't  you,  Miss  Grace  ?  " 

"  I  think  not ! "  she  replied,  with  a  cool  glance.  "  My 
hair  curls  quite  enough  already.  I  never  use  tongs !  " 

Brookfield  burst  into  a  laugh,  and  the  laugh  was  echoed 
murmurously  by  the  other  men  in  the  room.  Wrotham 
flushed  and  bit  his  lip. 

"  That's  a  one — er  for  me,"  he  said  lazily.  "  Pretty 
kitten  as  you  are,  Miss  Grace,  you  can  scratch!  That's 
always  the  worst  of  women, — they've  got  such  infernally 
sharp  tongues " 

"  Grace !  "  interrupted  her  mother,  at  this  juncture — 
"  You  are  wanted  in  the  kitchen." 

Grace  took  the  maternal  hint  and  retired  at  once.  At 
that  instant  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  stirred  slightly  from  his 
hitherto  rigid  attitude.  He  had  only  taken  half  his  glass 
of  brandy,  but  that  small  amount  had  brought  back  a  tinge 
of  colour  to  his  face  and  deepened  the  sparkle  of  fire  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Good  roads  for  motoring  about  here ! "  he  said. 

Lord  Wrotham  looked  up, — then  measuring  the  great 
height,  muscular  build,  and  commanding  appearance  of  the 
speaker,  nodded  affably. 

"  First-rate !  "  he  replied.  "  We  had  a  splendid  run  from 
Cleeve  Abbey." 

"  Magnificent !  "  echoed  Brookfield.  "  Not  half  a  second's 
stop  all  the  way.  We  should  have  been  far  beyond  Mine- 
head  by  this  time,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  break-down. 
We  were  racing  from  London  to  the  Land's  End, — but  we 
took  a  wrong  turning  just  before  we  came  to  Cleeve " 

"  Oh !  Took  a  wrong  turning,  did  you  ? "  And  Tom 
leaned  a  little  forward  as  though  to  hear  more  accurately. 
His  face  had  grown  deadly  pale  again,  and  he  breathed 
quickly. 

"  Yes.  We  found  ourselves  quite  close  to  Cleeve  Abbey, 
but  we  didn't  stop  to  see  old  ruins  this  time,  you  bet!  We 
just  tore  down  the  first  lane  we  saw  running  back  into  the 
high-road., — a  pretty  steep  bit  of  ground  too — and,  by  Jove ! 
— didn't  we  whizz  round  the  corner  at  the  bottom!  That 
was  a  near  shave,  I  can  tell  you !  " 

"  Ay,  ay !  "  said  Tom  slowly,  listening  with  an  air  of 
profound  interest.  "  You've  got  a  smart  chauffeur,  no 
doubt!" 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   145 

*  No  chauffeur  at  all !  "  declared  Brookfield,  emphatically. 
"  His  lordship  drives  his  car  himself." 

There  followed  an  odd  silence.  All  the  customers  in 
the  room,  drinking  and  eating  as  many  of  them  were,  seemed 
to  be  under  a  dumb  spell.  Tom  o'  the  Gleam's  presence 
was  at  all  times  more  or  less  of  a  terror  to  the  timorous, 
and  that  he,  who  as  a  rule  avoided  strangers,  should  on 
his  own  initiative  enter  into  conversation  with  the  two 
motorists,  was  of  itself  a  circumstance  that  awakened  con- 
siderable wonder  and  interest.  David  Helmsley,  sitting 
apart  in  the  shadow,  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  gypsy's 
face  and  figure, — a  kind  of  fascination  impelled  him  to 
watch  with  strained  attention  the  dark  shape,  moulded 
with  such  herculean  symmetry,  which  seemed  to  command 
and  subdue  the  very  air  that  gave  it  force  and  sustenance. 

"  His  lordship  drives  his  car  himself !  "  echoed  Tom,  and 
a  curious  smile  parted  his  lips,  showing  an  almost  sinister 
gleam  of  white  teeth  between  his  full  black  moustache  and 
beard, — then,  bringing  his  sombre  glance  to  bear  slowly 
down  on  Wrotham's  insignificant  form,  he  continued, — 
"  Are  you  his  lordship?  " 

Wrotham  nodded  with  a  careless  condescension,  and, 
lighting  a  cigar,  began  to  smoke  it. 

"  And  you  drive  your  car  yourself !  "  proceeded  Tom, — 
"  you  must  have  good  nerve  and  a  keen  eye ! " 

"Oh  well!"  And  Wrotham  laughed  airily— "  Pretty 
much  so ! — but  I  won't  boast !  " 

"  How  many  miles  an  hour?  "  went  on  Tom,  pursuing  his 
inquiries  with  an  almost  morbid  eagerness. 

"  Forty  or  fifty,  I  suppose — sometimes  more.  I  always 
run  at  the  highest  speed.  Of  course  that  kind  of  thing 
knocks  the  motor  to  pieces  rather  soon,  but  one  can  always 
buy  another." 

"  True !  "  said  Tom.  "  Very  true !  One  can  always  buy 
another !  "  He  paused,  and  seemed  to  collect  his  thoughts 
with  an  effort, — then  noticing  the  half-glass  of  brandy  he 
had  left  on  the  counter,  he  took  it  up  and  drank  it  all  off  at 
a  gulp.  "  Have  you  ever  had  any  accidents  on  the  road  ?  " 

"  Accidents  ?  "  Lord  Wrotham  put  up  an  eyeglass.  "  Ac- 
cidents ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  what  should  I  mean  except  what  I  say !  "  And 
Tom  gave  a  sudden  loud  laugh, — a  laugh  which  made 
the  hostess  at  the  bar  start  nervously,  while  many  of  the 


146      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

men  seated  round  the  various  tables  exchanged  uneasy 
glances.  "  Accidents  are  accidents  all  the  world  over ! 
Haven't  you  ever  been  thrown  out,  upset,  shaken  in  body, 
broken  in  bone,  or  otherwise  involved  in  mischief?  " 

Lord  Wrotham  smiled,  and  let  his  eyeglass  fall  with  a 
click  against  his  top  waistcoat  button. 

"  Never !  "  he  said,  taking  his  cigar  from  his  mouth, 
looking  at  it,  and  then  replacing  it  with  a  relish — "  I'm 
too  fond  of  my  own  life  to  run  any  risk  of  losing  it.  Other 
people's  lives  don't  matter  so  much,  but  mine  is  precious! 
Eh,  Brookfield?" 

Brookfield  chuckled  himself  purple  in  the  face  over  this 
pleasantry,  and  declared  that  his  lordship's  wit  grew  sharper 
with  every  day  of  his  existence.  Meanwhile  Tom  o'  the 
Gleam  moved  a  step  or  two  nearer  to  Wrotham. 

"  You're  a  lucky  lord !  "  he  said,  and  again  he  laughed 
discordantly.  "  Very  lucky !  But  you  don't  mean  to  tell 
me  that  while  you're  pounding  along  at  full  speed,  you've 
never  upset  anything  in  your  way? — never  knocked  down 
an  old  man  or  woman, — never  run  over  a  dog, — or  a 
child?" 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  mean  that  kind  of  thing !  "  murmured 
Wrotham,  puffing  placidly  at  his  cigar — "  Of  course !  That's 
quite  common !  We're  always  running  over  something  or 
other,  aren't  we,  Brookie  ?  " 

"  Always  !  "  declared  that  gentleman  pleasantly.  "  Really 
it's  half  the  fun !  " 

"  Positively  it  is,  don't-cher-know ! "  and  his  lordship 
played  again  with  his  enamelled  pig — "  But  it's  not  our 
fault.  If  things  will  get  into  our  way,  we  can't  wait  till 
they  get  out.  We're  bound  to  ride  over  them.  Do  you 
remember  that  old  hen,  Brookie?" 

Brookfield  spluttered  into  a  laugh,  and  nodded  in  the 
affirmative. 

''  There  it  was  skipping  over  the  road  in  front  of  us  in 
as  great  a  hurry  as  ever  hen  was,"  went  on  Wrotham. 
"  Going  back  to  its  family  of  eggs  per  express  waddle ! 
Whiz!  Pst — and  all  its  eggs  and  waddles  were  over!  By 
Jove,  how  we  screamed  !  Ha — ha — ha  ! — he — he — he  !  " 

Lord  Wrotham's  laugh  resembled  that  laugh  peculiar  to 
"  society  "  folk, — the  laugh  civil-sniggering,  which  is  just 
a  tone  between  the  sheep's  bleat 'and  the  peewit's  cry.  But 
no  one  laughed  in  response,  and  no  one  spoke.  Some  heavy 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   147 

spell  was  in  the  air  like  a  cloud  shadowing  a  landscape,  and 
an  imaginative  onlooker  would  have  been  inclined  to  think 
that  this  imperceptible  mystic  darkness  had  come  in  with 
Tom  o'  the  Gleam  and  was  centralising  itself  round  him 
alone.  Brookfield,  seeing  that  his  lordly  patron  was  in- 
clined to  talk,  and  that  he  was  evidently  anxious  to  narrate 
various  "  car  "  incidents,  similar  to  the  hen  episode,  took 
up  the  conversation  and  led  it  on. 

"  It  is  really  quite  absurd,"  he  said,  "  for  any  one  of 
common  sense  to  argue  that  a  motorist  can,  could,  or 
should  pull  up  every  moment  for  the  sake  of  a  few  stray 
animals,  or  even  people,  when  they  don't  seem  to  know  or 
care  where  they  are  going.  Now  think  of  that  child  to-day ! 
What  an  absolute  little  idiot!  Gathering  wild  thyme  and 
holding  it  out  to  the  car  going  full  speed !  No  wonder  we 
knocked  it  over !  " 

The  hostess  of  the  inn  looked  up  quickly. 

"  I  hope  it  was  not  hurt  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh  dear  no !  "  answered  Lord  Wothram  lightly.  "  It 
just  fell  back  and  turned  a  somersault  in  the  grass, — evi- 
dently enjoying  itself.  It  had  a  narrow  escape  though !  " 

Tom  o'  the  Gleam  stared  fixedly  at  him.  Once  or  twice 
he  essayed  to  speak,  but  no  sound  came  from  his  twitching 
lips.  Presently,  with  an  effort,  he  found  his  voice. 

"  Did  you—did  you  stop  the  car  and  go  back  to  see — 
to  see  if — if  it  was  all  right  ?  "  he  asked,  in  curiously  harsh, 
monotonous  accents. 

"  Stop  the  car?  Go  back?  By  Jove,  I  should  think  not 
indeed !  I'd  lost  too  much  time  already  through  taking  a 
wrong  turning.  The  child  was  all  right  enough." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  muttered  Torn  thickly.  "  Are  you — 
quite — sure  ?  " 

"  Sure  ?  "  And  Wrotham  again  had  recourse  to  his  eye- 
glass, which  he  stuck  in  one  eye,  while  he  fixed  his  inter- 
locutor with  a  supercilious  glance.  "  Of  course  I'm  sure ! 
What  the  devil  d'  ye  take  me  for?  It  was  a  mere  beggar's 
brat  anyhow — there  are  too  many  of  such  little  wretches 
running  loose  about  the  roads — regular  nuisances — a  few 
might  be  run  over  with  advantage — Hullo!  What  now? 
What's  the  matter?  Keep  your  distance,  please!"  For 
Tom  suddenly  threw  up  his  clenched  fists  with  an  inar- 
ticulate cry  of  rage,  and  now  leaped  towards  Wrotham  in 
the  attitude  of  a  wild  beast  springing  on  its  prey.  "  Hands 


148      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

off !  Hands  off,  I  say !  Damn  you,  leave  me  alone !  Brook- 
field!  Here!  Some  one  get  a  hold  of  this  fellow!  He's 
mad!" 

But  before  Brookfield  or  any  other  man  could  move  to 
his  assistance,  Tom  had  pounced  upon  him  with  all  the 
fury  of  a  famished  tiger. 

"  God  curse  you !  "  he  panted,  between  the  gasps  of  his 
labouring  breath — "  God  burn  you  for  ever  in  Hell !  " 

Down  on  the  ground  he  hurled  him,  clutching  him  round 
the  neck,  and  choking  every  attempt  at  a  cry.  Then  falling 
himself  in  all  his  huge  height,  breadth,  and  weight,  upon 
Wrotham's  prone  body  he  crushed  it  under  and  held  it  be- 
neath him,  while,  with  appalling  swiftness  and  vehemence, 
he  plunged  a  drawn  claspknife  deep  in  his  victim's  throat, 
hacking  the  flesh  from  left  to  right,  from  right  to  left  with 
reckless  ferocity,  till  the  blood  spurted  about  him  in  horrid 
crimson  jets,  and  gushed  in  a  dark  pool  on  the  floor. 

Piercing  screams  from  the  women,  groans  and  cries  from 
the  men,  filled  the  air,  and  the  lately  peaceful  scene  was 
changed  to  one  of  maddening  'confusion.  Brookfield  rushed 
wildly  through  the  open  door  of  the  inn  into  the  village 
street,  yelling :  "  Help !  Help !  Murder !  Help !  "  and  in 
less  than  five  minutes  the  place  was  filled  with  an  excited 
crowd.  "  Tom  !  "  "  Tom  o'  the  Gleam !  "  ran  in  frightened 
whispers  from  mouth  to  mouth.  David  Helmsley,  giddy 
with  the  sudden  shock  of  terror,  rose  shuddering  from  his 
place  with  a  vague  idea  of  instant  flight  in  his  mind,  but 
remained  standing  inert,  half  paralysed  by  sheer  panic, 
while  several  men  surrounded  Tom,  and  dragged  him  forci- 
bly up  from  the  ground  where  he  lay,  still  grasping  his 
murdered  man.  As  they  wrenched  the  gypsy's  grappling 
arms  away,  Wrotham  fell  back  on  the  floor,  stone  dead. 
Life  had  been  thrust  out  of  him  with  the  first  blow  dealt 
him  by  Tom's  clasp-knife,  which  had  been  aimed  at  his 
throat  as  a  butcher  aims  at  the  throat  of  a  swine.  His 
bleeding  corpse  presented  a  frightful  spectacle,  the  head 
being  nearly  severed  from  the  body. 

Brookfield,  shaking  all  over,  turned  his  back  upon  the 
awful  sight,  and  kept  on  running  to  and  fro  and  up  and 
down  the  street,  clamouring  like  a  madman  for  the  police. 
Two  sturdy  constables  presently  came,  their  appearance  re- 
storing something  like  order.  To  them  Tom  o'  the  Gleam 
advanced,  extending  his  blood-stained  hands. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   149 

*  I  am  ready !  "  he  said,  in  a  quiet  voice.  "  I  am  the 
murderer ! " 

They  looked  at  him.  Then,  by  way  of  precaution,  one 
of  them  clasped  a  pair  of  manacles  on  his  wrists.  The 
other,  turning  his  eyes  to  the  corpse  on  the  floor,  recoiled 
in  horror. 

"  Throw  something  over  it !  "  he  commanded. 

He  was  obeyed,  and  the  dreadful  remains  of  what  had 
once  been  human,  were  quickly  shrouded  from  view. 

"  How  did  this  happen  ?  "  was  the  next  question  put  by 
the  officer  of  the  law  who  had  already  spoken,  opening  his 
notebook. 

A  chorus  of  eager  tongues  answered  him,  Brookfield's 
excited  explanation  echoing  above  them  all.  His  dear  friend, 
his  great,  noble,  good  friend  had  been  brutally  murdered !  His 
friend  was  Lord  Wrotham,  of  Wrotham  Hall,  Blankshire! 
A  break-down  had  occurred  within  half  a  mile  of  Blue 
Anchor,  and  Lord  Wrotham  had  taken  rooms  at  the  pres- 
ent inn  for  the  night.  His  lordship  had  condescended 
to  enter  into  a  friendly  conversation  with  the  ruffian  now 
under  arrest,  who,  without  the  slightest  cause  or  provoca- 
tion whatsoever,  had  suddenly  attacked  and  overthrown  his 
lordship,  and  plunged  a  knife  into  his  lordship's  throat! 
He  himself  was  James  Brookfield,  proprietor  of  the  Daily 
Post-Bag,  the  Pictorial  Pie,  and  the  Illustrated  Invoice,  and 
he  should  make  this  outrageous,  this  awful  crime  a  warning 
to  mortorists  throughout  the  world !  " 

"  That  will  do,  thank  you,"  said  the  officer  briefly — then 
he  gave  a  sharp  glance  around  him — "  Where's  the  land- 
lady?" 

She  had  fled  in  terror  from  the  scene,  and  some  one  went 
in  search  of  her,  returning  with  the  poor  woman  and  her 
two  daughters,  all  of  them  deathly  pale  and  shivering  with 
dread. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  mother !  "  said  one  of  the  constables 
kindly — "  No  harm  will  come  to  you.  Just  tell  us  what  you 
saw  of  this  affair — that's  all." 

Whereat  the  poor  hostess,  her  narrative  interrupted  by 
tears,  explained  that  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  was  a  frequent 
customer  of  hers,  and  that  she  had  never  thought  badly  of 
him. 

"  He  was  a  bit  excited  to-night,  but  he  wasn't  drunk," 
she  said.  "  He  told  me  he  was  ill,  and  asked  for  a  glass 


150      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

of  brandy.  He  looked  as  if  he  were  in  great  pain,  and  I 
gave  him  the  brandy  at  once  and  asked  him  to  step  inside 
the  bar.  But  he  wouldn't  do  that, — he  just  stood  talking 
with  the  gentlemen  about  motoring,  and  then  something 
was  said  about  a  child  being  knocked  over  by  the  motor, — 
and  all  of  a  sudden " 

Here  her  voice  broke,  and  she  sank  on  a  seat  half  swoon- 
ing, while  Elizabeth,  her  eldest  girl,  finished  the  story  in 
low,  trembling  tones.  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  meanwhile  stood 
rigidly  upright  and  silent.  To  him  the  chief  officer  of  the 
law  finally  turned. 

"  Will  you  jcome  with  us  quietly  ?  "  he  asked,  "  or  do  you 
mean  to  give  us  trouble  ?  " 

Tom  lifted  his  dark  eyes. 

"  I  shall  give  no  man  any  more  trouble,"  he  answered. 
"  I  shall  go  nowhere  save  where  I  am  taken.  You  need  fear 
nothing  from  me  now.  But  I  must  speak." 

The  officer  frowned  warningly. 

"  You'd  better  not !  "  he  said. 

"  I  must !  "  repeated  Tom.  "  You  think, — all  of  you, — 
that  I  had  no  cause — no  provocation — to  kill  the  man  who 
lies  there  " — and  he  turned  a  fierce  glance  upon  the  covered 
corpse,  from  which  a  dark  stream  of  blood  was  trickling 
slowly  along  the  floor — "  I  swear  before  God  that  I  had 
cause! — and  that  my  cause  was  just!  I  had  provocation! 
— the  bitterest  and  worst!  That  man  was  a  murderer  as 
surely  as  I  am.  Look  yonder !  "  And  lifting  his  manacled 
hands  he  extended  them  towards  the  bench  where  lay  the 
bundle  covered  with  horse-cloth,  which  he  had  carried  in 
his  arms  and  set  down  when  he  had  first  entered  the  inn. 
"  Look,  I  say ! — and  then  tell  me  I  had  no  cause !  " 

With  an  uneasy  glance  one  of  the  officers  went  up  to 
the  spot  indicated,  and  hurriedly,  yet  fearfully,  lifted  the 
horse-cloth  and  looked  under  it.  Then  uttering  an  exclama- 
tion of  horror  and  pity,  he  drew  away  the  covering  alto- 
gether, and  disclosed  to  view  the  dead  body  of  a  child, — 
a  little  curly-headed  lad, — lying  as  if  it  were  asleep,  a  smile 
on  its  pretty  mouth,  and  a  bunch  of  wild  thyme  clasped  in 
the  clenched  fingers  of  its  small  right  hand. 

"My  God!    It's  Kiddie!" 

The  exclamation  was  uttered  almost  simultaneously  by 
every  one  in  the  room,  and  the  girl  Elizabeth  sprang 
forward. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   151 

"  Oh,  not  Kiddie !  "  she  cried—"  Oh,  surely  not  Kiddie ! 
Oh,  the  poor  little  darling ! — the  pretty  little  man  !  " 

And  she  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  tiny  corpse  and 
gave  way  to  a  wild  fit  of  weeping. 

There  was  an  awful  silence,  broken  only  by  her  sobbing. 
Men  turned  away  and  covered  their  eyes — Brookfield  edged 
himself  stealthily  through  the  little  crowd  and  sneaked  out 
into  the  open  air — and  the  officers  of  the  law  stood  inactive. 
Helmsley  felt  the  room  whirling  about  him  in  a  sickening 
blackness,  and  sat  down  to  steady  himself,  the  stinging  tears 
rising  involuntarily  in  his  throat  and  almost  choking  him. 

"  Oh,  Kiddie !  "  wailed  Elizabeth  again,  looking  up  in 
plaintive  appeal — "  Oh,  mother,  mother,  see !  Grace  come 
here !  Kiddie's  dead !  The  poor  innocent  little  child  !  " 
They  came  at  her  call,  and  knelt  with  her,  crying  bitterly, 
and  smoothing  back  with  tender  hands  the  thickly  tangled 
dark  curls  of  the  smiling  dead  thing,  with  the  fragrance 
of  wild  thyme  clinging  about  it,  as  though  it  were  a  broken 
flower  torn  from  the  woods  where  it  had  blossomed.  Tom 
o'  the  Gleam  watched  them,  and  his  broad  chest  heaved 
with  a  sudden  gasping  sigh. 

"  You  all  know  now,"  he  said  slowly,  staring  with  strained 
piteous  eyes  at  the  little  lifeless  body — "  you  understand, — 
the  motor  killed  my  Kiddie !  He  was  playing  on  the  road — 
I  was  close  by  among  the  trees — I  saw  the  cursed  car  com- 
ing full  speed  downhill — I  rushed  to  take  the  boy,  but  was 
too  late — he  cried  once — and  then — silence!  All  the  laugh- 
ter gone  out  of  him — all  the  life  and  love "  He  paused 

with  a  shudder. — "  I  carried  him  all  the  way,  and  followed 
the  car,"  he  went  on — "  I  would  have  followed  it  to  the 
world's  end!  I  ran  by  a  short  cut  down  near  the  sea, 
— and  then — I  saw  the  thing  break  down.  I  thanked  God 
for  that!  I  tracked  the  murderers  here, — I  meant  to  kill 
the  man  who  killed  my  child ! — and  I  have  done  it !  "  He 
paused  again.  Then  he  held  out  his  hands  and  looked  at 
the  constable. 

"  May  I — before  I  go — take  him  in  my  arms — and  kiss 
him  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  chief  officer  nodded.  He  could  not  speak,  but  he 
unfastened  Tom's  manacles  and  threw  them  on  the  floor. 
Then  Tom  himself  moved  feebly  and  unsteadily  to  where 
the  women  knelt  beside  his  dead  child.  They  rose  as  he 
approached,  but  did  not  turn  away. 


152      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  You  have  hearts,  you  women !  "  he  said  faintly.  "  You 
know  what  it  is  to  love  a  child!  And  Kiddie, — Kiddie 
was  such  a  happy  little  fellow! — so  strong  and  hearty! — 
so  full  of  life !  And  now — now  he's  stiff  and  cold !  Only 

this  morning  he  was  jumping  and  laughing  in  my  arms " 

He  broke  off,  trembling  violently,  then  with  an  effort  he 
raised  his  head  and  turned  his  eyes  with  a  wild  stare  upon 
all  around  him.  "  We  are  only  poor  folk !  "  he  went  on,  in 
a  firmer  voice.  "  Only  gypsies,  tinkers,  road-menders,  la- 
bourers, and  the  like !  We  cannot  fight  against  the  rich 
who  ride  us  down !  There's  no  law  for  us,  because  we  can't 
pay  for  it.  We  can't  fee  the  counsel  or  dine  the  judge ! 
The  rich  can  pay.  They  can  trample  us  down  under  their 
devilish  motor-cars,  and  obliging  juries  will  declare  our 
wrongs  and  injuries  and  deaths  to  be  mere  '  accident '  or 
*  misadventure  ' !  But  if  they  can  kill,  by  God ! — so  can 
•we!  And  if  the  law  lets  them  off  for  murdering  our  'chil- 
dren, we  must  take  the  law  into  our  own  hands  and  murder 
them  in  turn — ay !  even  if  we  swing  for  it !  " 

No  one  spoke.  The  women  still  sobbed  convulsively,  but 
otherwise  there  was  a  great  silence.  Tom  o'  the  Gleam 
stretched  forth  his  hands  with  an  eloquent  gesture  of 
passion. 

"  Look  at  him  lying  there !  "  he  cried — "  Only  a  child 
— a  little  child !  So  pretty  and  playful ! — all  his  joy  was 
in  the  birds  and  flowers !  The  robins  knew  him  and  would 
perch  on  his  shoulder, — he  would  call  to  the  cuckoo, — he 
would  race  the  swallow, — he  would  lie  in  the  grass  and 
sing  with  the  skylark  and  talk  to  the  daisies.  He  was  happy 
with  the  simplest  things — and  when  we  put  him  to  bed  in 
his  little  hammock  under  the  trees,  he  would  smile  up  at 
the  stars  and  say :  '  Mother's  up  there !  Good-night, 
mother ! '  Oh,  the  lonely  trees,  and  the  empty  hammock ! 
Oh,  my  lad ! — my  little  pretty  lad  !  Murdered  !  Murdered ! 
Gone  from  me  for  ever !  For  ever !  God !  God !  " 

Reeling  heavily  forward,  he  sank  in  a  crouching  heap 
beside  the  child's  dead  body  and  snatched  it  into  his  embrace, 
kissing  the  littfe  cold  lips  and  cheeks  and  eyelids  again  and 
again,  and  pressing  it  with  frantic  fervour  against  his 
breast. 

"  The  dark  hour!  "  he  muttered—"  the  dark  hour!  To- 
day when  I  came  away  over  the  moors  I  felt  it  creeping 
upon  me!  Last  night  it  whispered  to  me,  and  I  felt  its 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   153 

cold  breath  hissing  against  my  ears!  When  I  climbed 
down  the  rocks  to  the  sea-shore,  I  heard  it  wailing  in  the 
waves! — and  through  the  hollows  of  the  rocks  it  shrieked 
an  unknown  horror  at  me !  Who  was  it  that  said  to-day — 
*  He  is  only  a  child  after  all,  and  he  might  be  taken  from 
you'?  I  remember! — it  was  Miss  Tranter  who  spoke — and 
she  was  sorry  afterwards — ah,  yes ! — she  was  sorry ! — but 
it  was  the  spirit  of  the  hour  that  moved  her  to  the  utterance 
of  a  warning — she  could  not  help  herself, — and  I — I  should 
have  been  more  careful ! — I  should  not  have  left  my  little 
one  for  a  moment, — but  I  never  thought  any  harm  could 
come  to  him — no,  never  to  him!  I  was  always  sure  God 
was  too  good  for  that !  " 

Moaning  drearily,  he  rocked  the  dead  boy  to  and  fro. 

"  Kiddie — my  Kiddie !  "  he  murmured — "  Little  one  with 
my  love's  eyes ! — heart's  darling  with  my  love's  face !  Don't 
go  to  sleep,  Kiddie! — not  just  yet! — wake  up  and  kiss  me 
once ! — only  once  again,  Kiddie  !  " 

"  Oh,  Tom !  "  sobbed  Elizabeth,—"  Oh,  poor,  poor  Tom !  " 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice  he  raised  his  head  and  looked 
up  at  her.  There  was  a  strange  expression  on  his  face, — 
a  fixed  and  terrible  stare  in  his  eyes.  Suddenly  he  broke 
into  a  wild  laugh. 

"  Ha-ha !  "  he  cried.  "  Poor  Tom !  Tom  o'  the  Gleam ! 
That's  me ! — the  me  that  was  not  always  me !  Not  always 
me — no ! — not  always  Tom  o'  the  Gleam !  It  was  a  bold 
life  I  led  in  the  woods  long  ago! — a  life  full  of  sunshine 
and  laughter — a  life  for  a  man  with  man's  blood  in  his 
veins !  Away  out  in  the  land  that  once  was  old  Provence, 
we  jested  and  sang  the  hours  away, — the  women  with  their 
guitars  and  mandolines — the  men  with  their  wild  dances  and 
tambourines, — and  love  was  the  keynote  of  the  music — 
love ! — always  love !  Love  in  the  sunshine ! — love  under  the 
moonbeams! — bright  eyes  in  which  to  drown  one's  soul, — 
red  lips  on  which  to  crush  one's  heart! — Ah,  God! — such 
days  when  we  were  young ! 

'Ah!  Craignons  de  perdre  un  seul  jour, 
De  la  belle  saison  de  1'amour ! ' ' 

He  sang  these  lines  in  a  rich  baritone,  clear  and  thrilling 
with  passion,  and  the  men  grouped  about  him,  not  under- 
standing what  he  sang,  glanced  at  one  another  with  an 


154      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

uneasy  sense  of  fear.  All  at  once  he  struggled  to  his  feet 
without  assistance,  and  stood  upright,  still  clasping  the 
body  of  his  child  in  his  arms. 

"  Come,  come !  "  he  said  thickly — "  It's  time  we  were  off, 
Kiddie !  We  must  get  across  the  moor  and  into  camp.  It's 
time  for  all  lambs  to  be  in  the  fold; — time  to  go  to  bed, 
my  little  lad!  Good-night,  mates!  Good-night!  I  know 
you  all, — and  you  all  know  me — you  like  fair  play!  Fair 
play  all  round,  eh?  Not  one  law  for  the  rich  and  another 
for  the  poor !  Even  justice,  boys !  Justice  !  Justice !  " 

Here  his  voice  broke  in  a  great  and  awful  cry, — blood 
sprang  from  his  lips — his  face  grew  darkly  purple, — and 
like  a  huge  tree  snapped  asunder  by  a  storm,  he  reeled 
heavily  to  the  ground.  One  of  the  constables  caught  him  as 
he  fell. 

"  Hold  up,  Tom ! "  he  said  tremulously,  the  thick  tears 
standing  in  his  eyes.  "  Don't  give  way !  Be  a  man !  Hold 
up !  Steady !  Here,  let  me  take  the  poor  Kiddie !  " 

For  a  ghastly  pallor  was  stealing  over  Tom's  features, 
and  his  lips  were  widely  parted  in  a  gasping  struggle  for 
breath. 

"  No — no ! — don't  take  my  boy !  "  he  muttered  feebly. 
"  Let  me — keep  him — with  me !  God  is  good — good  after 
all ! — we  shall  not — be  parted !  " 

A  strong  convulsion  shook  his  sinewy  frame  from  head 
to  foot,  and  he  writhed  in  desperate  agony.  The  officer  put 
an  arm  under  his  head,  and  made  an  expressive  sign  to  the 
awed  witnesses  of  the  scene.  Helmsley,  startled  at  this, 
came  hurriedly  forward,  trembling  and  scarcely  able  to  speak 
in  the  extremity  of  his  fear  and  pity. 

"  What— what  is  it?  "  he  stammered.    "  Not— not ?  " 

"  Death !  That's  what  it  is !  "  said  the  officer,  gently. 
"  His  heart's  broken !  " 

One  rough  fellow  here  pushed  his  way  to  the  side  of 
the  fallen  man, — it  was  the  cattle-driver  who  had  taken 
part  in  the  previous  conversation  among  the  customers  at 
the  inn  before  the  occurrence  of  the  tragedy.  He  knelt 
down,  sobbing  like  a  child. 

"  Tom !  "  he  faltered,  "  Tom,  old  chap !  Hearten  up  a 
bit !  Don't  leave  us !  There's  not  one  of  us  as'll  think  ill 
of  ye ! — no,  not  if  the  law  was  to  shut  ye  up  for  life !  You 
was  allus  good  to  us  poor  folk — an'  poor  folk  aint  as  forgit- 
tin'  o'  kindness  as  rich.  Stay  an'  help  us  along,  Tom ! — you 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   155 

was  allus  brave  an'  strong  an'  hearty — an'  there's  many 
of  us  wantin'  comfort  an'  cheer,  eh  Tom  ?  " 

Tom's  splendid  dark  eyes  opened,  and  a  smile,  very  wan 
and  wistful,  gleamed  across  his  lips. 

"  Is  that  you,  Jim  ?  "  he  muttered  feebly.  "  It's  all  dark 
and  cold ! — I  can't  see ! — there'll  be  a  frost  to-night,  and  the 
lambs  must  be  watched  a  bit — I'm  afraid  I  can't  help  you, 
Jim — not  to-night!  Wanting  comfort,  did  you  say?  Ay! 
— plenty  wanting  that,  but  I'm  past  giving  it,  my  boy! 
I'm  done." 

He  drew  a  struggling  breath  with  pain  and  difficulty. 

"  You  see,  Jim,  I've  killed  a  man  !  "  he  went  on,  gaspingly 
— "  And — and — I've  no  money — we  all  share  and  share 
alike  in  camp — it  won't  be  worth  any  one's  while  to  find 
excuses  for  me.  They'd  shut  me  up  in  prison  if  I  lived 
— but  now — God's  my  judge!  And  He's  merciful — He's 
giving  me  my  liberty  !  " 

His  eyelids  fell  wearily,  and  a  shadow,  dark  at  first,  and 
then  lightening  into  an  ivory  pallor,  began  to  cover  his 
features  like  a  fine  mask,  at  sight  of  which  the  girls,  Eliza- 
beth and  Grace,  with  their  mother,  knelt  down  and  hid 
their  faces.  Every  one  in  the  room  knelt  too,  and  there 
was  a  profound  stillness.  Tom's  breathing  grew  heavier 
and  more  laboured, — once  they  made  an  attempt  to  lift  the 
weight  of  his  child's  dead  body  from  his  breast,  but  his 
hands  were  clenched  upon  it  convulsively  and  they  could 
not  loosen  his  hold.  All  at  once  Elizabeth  lifted  her  head 
and  prayed  aloud — 

"  O  God,  have  mercy  on  our  poor  friend  Tom,  and  help 
him  through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow!  Grant  him  Thy 

forgiveness  for  all  his  sins,  and  let  him  find "  here  she 

broke  down  and  sobbed  pitifully, — then  between  her  tears 
she  finished  her  petition — "  Let  him  find  his  little  child  with 
Thee!" 

A  low  and  solemn  "  Amen "  was  the  response  to  her 
prayer  from  all  present,  and  suddenly  Tom  opened  his  eyes 
with  a  surprised  bright  look. 

"  Is  Kiddie  all  right?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Tom !  "  It  was  Elizabeth  who  answered,  bend- 
ing over  him — "  Kiddie's  all  right !  He's  fast  asleep  in  your 
arms." 

"  So  he  is !  "  And  the  brilliancy  in  Tom's  eyes  grew  still 
more  radiant,  while  with  one  hand  he  caressed  the  thick 


156      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

dark  curls  that  clustered  on  the  head  of  his  dead  boy — 
"  Poor  little  chap !  Tired  out,  and  so  am  I !  It's  very  cold, 
surely !  " 

"  Yes,  Tom,  it  is.    Very  cold ! " 

"  I  thought  so !  I — I  must  keep  the  child  warm.  They'll 
be  worried  in  camp  over  all  this — Kiddie  never  stays  out 
so  late.  He's  such  a  little  fellow — only  four ! — and  he  goes 
to  bed  early  always.  And  when — when  he's  asleep — why 
then — then — the  day's  over  for  me, — and  night  begins — 
night  begins !  " 

The  smile  lingered  on  his  lips,  and  settled  there  at  last 
in  coldest  gravity, — the  fine  mask  of  death  covered  his 
features  with  an  impenetrable  waxen  stillness — all  was  over ! 
Tom  o'  the  Gleam  had  gone  with  his  slain  child,  and  the 
victim  he  had  sacrificed  to  his  revenge,  into  the  presence 
of  that  Supreme  Recorder  who  chronicles  all  deeds  both  good 
and  evil,  and  who,  in  the  character  of  Divine  Justice,  may, 
perchance,  find  that  the  sheer  brutal  selfishness  of  the  mod- 
ern social  world  is  more  utterly  to  be  condemned,  and  more 
criminal  even  than  murder. 


CHAPTER     XI 

SICK  at  heart,  and  utterly  overcome  by  the  sudden  and 
awful  tragedy  to  which  he  had  been  an  enforced  silent  wit- 
ness, David  Helmsley  had  now  but  one  idea,  and  that  was 
at  once  to  leave  the  scene  of  horror  which,  like  a  ghastly 
nightmare,  scared  his  vision  and  dizzied  his  brain.  Stum- 
bling feebly  along,  and  seeming  to  those  who  by  chance 
noticed  him,  no  more  than  a  poor  old  tramp  terrified  out 
of  his  wits  by  the  grief  and  confusion  which  prevailed,  he 
made  his  way  gradually  through  the  crowd  now  pressing 
closely  round  the  dead,  and  went  forth  into  the  village  street. 
He  held  the  little  dog  Charlie  nestled  under  his  coat,  where 
he  had  kept  it  hidden  all  the  evening, — the  tiny  creature  was 
shivering  violently  with  that  strange  consciousness  of  the 
atmosphere  of  death  which  is  instinctive  to  so  many  animals, 
— and  a  vague  wish  to  soothe  its  fears  helped  him  for  the 
moment  to  forget  his  own  feelings.  He  would  not  trust 
himself  to  look  again  at  Tom  o'  the  Gleam,  stretched  life- 
less on  the  ground  with  his  slaughtered  child  clasped  in 
his  arms;  he  could  not  speak  to  any  one  of  the  terrified 
people.  He  heard  the  constables  giving  hurried  orders  for 
the  removal  of  the  bodies,  and  he  saw  two  more  police 
officers  arrive  and  go  into  the  stable-yard  of  the  inn,  there 
to  take  the  number  of  the  motor-car  and  write  down  the 
full  deposition  of  that  potentate  of  the  pictorial  press,  James 
Brookfield.  And  he  knew,  without  any  explanation,  that 
the  whole  affair  would  probably  be  served  up  the  next  day 
in  the  cheaper  newspapers  as  a  "  sensational "  crime,  so 
worded  as  to  lay  all  the  blame  on  Tom  o'  the  Gleam,  and  to 
exonerate  the  act,  and  deplore  the  violent  death  of  the 
"  lordly  "  brute  who,  out  of  his  selfish  and  wicked  reckless- 
ness, had  snatched  away  the  life  of  an  only  child  from  its 
father  without  care  or  compunction.  But  it  was  the  fearful 
swiftness  of  the  catastrophe  that  affected  Helmsley  most, 
— that,  and  what  seemed  to  him,  the  needless  cruelty  of 
fate.  Only  last  night  he  had  seen  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  for 
the  first  time — only  last  night  he  had  admired  the  physical 
symmetry  and  grace  of  the  man, — his  handsome  head,  his 

157 


158      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

rich  voice,  and  the  curious  refinement,  suggestive  of  some 
past  culture  and  education,  which  gave  such  a  charm  to 
his  manner, — only  last  night  he  had  experienced  that  little 
proof  of  human  sympathy  and  kindliness  which  had  shown 
itself  in  the  gift  of  the  few  coins  which  Tom  had  collected 
and  placed  on  his  pillow, — only  last  night  he  had  been 
touched  by  the  herculean  fellow's  tenderness  for  his  little 
"  Kiddie," — and  now, — within  the  space  of  twenty-four 
hours,  both  father  and  child  had  gone  out  of  life  at  a  rush 
as  fierce  and  relentless  as  the  speed  of  the  motor-car  which 
had  crushed  a  world  of  happiness  under  its  merciless  wheels. 
Was  it  right — was  it  just  that  such  things  should  be?  Could 
one  believe  in  the  goodness  of  God,  in  such  a  world  of 
wanton  wickedness?  Moving  along  in  a  blind  haze  of  be- 
wilderment, Helmsley's  thoughts  were  all  disordered  and 
his  mind  "in  a  whirl, — what  consciousness  he  had  left  to  him 
was  centred  in  an  effort  to  get  away — away! — far  away 
from  the  scene  of  murder  and  death, — away  from  the  scent 
and  trail  of  blood  which  seemed  to  infect  and  poison  the 
very  air! 

It  was  a  calm  and  lovely  night.  The  moon  rode  high, 
and  there  was  a  soft  wind  blowing  in  from  the  sea.  Out 
over  the  waste  of  heaving  water,  where  the  moon-beams 
turned  the  small  rippling  waves  to  the  resemblance  of  netted 
links  of  silver  or  steel,  the  horizon  stretched  sharply  clear 
and  definite,  like  a  line  drawn  under  the  finished  chapter 
of  vision.  There  was  a  gentle  murmur  of  the  inflowing 
tide  among  the  loose  stones  and  pebbles  fringing  the  beach, 
— but  to  Helmsley's  ears  it  sounded  like  the  miserable  moan- 
ing of  a  broken  heart, — the  wail  of  a  sorrowful  spirit  in 
torture.  He  went  on  and  on,  with  no  very  distinct  idea 
of  where  he  was  going, — he  simply  continued  to  walk 
automatically  like  one  in  a  dream.  He  did  not  know  the 
time,  but  guessed  it  must  be  somewhere  about  midnight. 
The  road  was  quite  deserted,  and  its  loneliness  was  to  him, 
in  his  present  overwrought  condition,  appalling.  Desolation 
seemed  to  involve  the  whole  earth  in  gloom, — the  trees 
stood  out  in  the  white  shine  of  the  moon  like  dark  shrouded 
ghosts  waving  their  cerements  to  and  fro, — the  fields  and 
hills  on  either  side  of  him  were  bare  and  solitary,  and  the 
gleam  of  the  ocean  was  cold  and  cheerless  as  a  "  Dead 
Man's  Pool."  Slowly  he  plodded  along,  with  a  thousand 
disjointed  fragments  of  thought  and  memory  teasing  his 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN      159 

brain,  all  part  and  parcel  of  his  recent  experiences, — he 
seemed  to  have  lived  through  a  whole  history  of  strange 
events  since  the  herb-gatherer,  Matt  Peke,  had  befriended 
him  on  the  road, — and  the  most  curious  impression  of  all 
was  that  he  had  somehow  lost  his  own  identity  for  ever.  It 
was  impossible  and  ridiculous  to  think  of  himself  as  David 
Helmsley,  the  millionaire, — there  was,  there  could  be  no 
such  person!  David  Helmsley, — the  real  David  Helms- 
ley, — was  very  old,  very  tired,  very  poor, — there  was  noth- 
ing left  for  him  in  this  world  save  death.  He  had  no  chil- 
dren, no  friends, — no  one  who  cared  for  him  or  who  wanted 
to  know  what  had  become  of  him.  He  was  absolutely 
alone, — and  in  the  hush  of  the  summer  night  he  fancied 
that  the  very  moon  looked  down  upon  him  with  a  chill  stare 
as  though  wondering  why  he  burdened  the  earth  with  his 
presence  when  it  was  surely  time  for  him  to  die ! 

It  was  not  till  he  found  that  he  was  leaving  the  shore  line, 
and  that  one  or  two  gas  lamps  twinkled  faintly  ahead  of 
him,  that  he  realized  he  was  entering  the  outskirts  of  a 
small  town.  Pausing  a  moment,  he  looked  about  him.  A 
high- walled  castle,  majestically  enthroned  on  a  steep  wooded 
height,  was  the  first  object  that  met  his  view, — every  line  of 
its  frowning  battlements  and  turrets  was  seen  clearly 
against  the  sky  as  though  etched  out  on  a  dark  background 
with  a  pencil  of  light.  A  sign-post  at  the  corner  of  a  wind- 
ing road  gave  the  direction  "  To  Dunster  Castle."  Read- 
ing this  by  the  glimmer  of  the  moon,  Helmsley  stood  ir- 
resolute for  a  minute  or  so,  and  then  resumed  his  tramp, 
proceeding  through  the  streets  of  what  he  knew  must  be 
Dunster  itself.  He  had  no  intention  of  stopping  in  the 
town, — an  inward  nervousness  pushed  him  on,  on,  in  spite 
of  fatigue,  and  Dunster  was  not  far  enough  away  from 
Blue  Anchor  to  satisfy  him.  The  scene  of  Tom  o'  the 
Gleam's  revenge  and  death  surrounded  him  with  a  horrible 
environment, — an  atmosphere  from  which  he  sought  to  free 
himself  by  sheer  distance,  and  he  resolved  to  walk  till  morn- 
ing rather  than  remain  anywhere  near  the  place  which  was 
now  associated  in  his  mind  with  one  of  the  darkest  episodes 
of  human  guilt  and  suffering  that  he  had  ever  known. 
Passing  by  the  old  inn  known  as  "  The  Luttrell  Arms,"  now 
fast  closed  for  the  night,  a  policeman  on  his  beat  stopped  in 
his  marching  to  and  fro,  and  spoke  to  him. 

"Hillo!     Which  way  do  you  come  from?" 


160      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  From  Watchett" 

"  Oh !  We've  just  had  news  of  a  murder  up  at  Blue 
Anchor.  Have  you  heard  anything  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes."  And  Helmsley  looked  his  questioner  squarely  in 
the  face.  "  It's  a  terrible  business !  But  the  murderer's 
caught !  " 

"  Caught  is  he  ?    Who's  got  him  ?  " 

"  Death !  "  And  Helmsley,  lifting  his  cap,  stood  bare- 
headed in  the  moonlight.  "  He'll  never  escape  again !  " 

The  constable  looked  amazed  and  a  little  awed. 

"  Death  ?  Why,  I  heard  it  was  that  wild  gypsy,  Tom  o' 
the  Gleam " 

"  So  it  was," — said  Helmsley,  gently, — "  and  Tom  o'  the 
Gleam  is  dead !  " 

"  No !  Don't  say  that !  "  ejaculated  the  constable  with 
real  concern.  "  There's  a  lot  of  good  in  Tom !  I  shouldn't 
like  to  think  he's  gone ! " 

"  You'll  find  it's  true,"  said  Helmsley.  "And  perhaps, 
when  you  get  all  the  details,  you'll  think  it  for  the  best. 
Good-night !  " 

"Are  you  staying  in  Dunster?  "  queried  the  officer  with  a 
keen  glance. 

"  No.  I'm  moving  on."  And  Helmsley  'smiled  wearily 
as  he  again  said — "  Good-night !  " 

He  walked  steadily,  though  slowly,  through  the  sleeping 
town,  and  passed  out  of  it.  Ascending  a  winding  bit  of  road 
he  found  himself  once  more  in  the  open  country,  and  pres- 
ently came  to  a  field  where  part  of  the  fence  had  been  broken 
through  by  the  cattle.  Just  behind  the  damaged  palings 
there  was  a  covered  shed,  open  in  front,  with  a  few  bundles 
of  straw  packed  within  it.  This  place  suggested  itself  as  a 
fairly  comfortable  shelter  for  an  hour's  rest,  and  becoming 
conscious  of  the  intense  aching  of  his  limbs,  he  took  posses- 
sion of  it,  setting  the  small  "  Charlie  "  down  to  gambol  on 
the  grass  at  pleasure.  He  was  far  more  tired  than  he  knew, 
and  remembering  the  "  yerb  wine  "  which  Matt  Peke  had 
provided  him  with,  he  took  a  long  draught  of  it,  grateful  for 
its  reviving  warmth  and  tonic  power.  Then,  half-dreamily, 
he  watched  the  little  dog  whom  he  had  rescued  and  be- 
friended, and  presently  found  himself  vaguely  entertained 
by  the  graceful  antics  of  the  tiny  creature  which,  despite  its 
wounded  paw,  capered  limpingly  after  its  own  shadow  flung 
by  the  moonlight  on  the  greensward,  and  attempted  in  its 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   161 

own  playful  way  to  attract  the  attention  of  its  new  master 
and  wile  him  away  from  his  mood  of  utter  misery.  Involun- 
tarily he  thought  of  the  frenzied  cry  of  Shakespeare's 
"  Lear  "  over  the  dead  body  of  Cordelia : — 

"  What !    Shall  a  dog,  a  horse,  a  rat,  have  life 
And  thou  no  breath  at  all !  " 

What  curious  caprice  of  destiny  was  it  that  saved  the  life 
of  a  dog,  yet  robbed  a  father  of  his  child  ?  Who  could  ex- 
plain it?  Why  should  a  happy  innocent  little  lad  like  Tom 
o'  the  Gleam's  "  Kiddie  "  have  been  hurled  out  of  existence 
in  a  moment  as  it  were  by  the  mad  speed  of  a  motor's 
wheels, — and  a  fragile  "  toy  "  terrier,  the  mere  whim  of  dog- 
breeders  and  plaything  for  fanciful  women,  be  plucked  from 
starvation  and  death  as  though  the  great  forces  of  creation 
deemed  it  more  worth  cherishing  than  a  human  being !  For 
the  murder  of  Lord  Wrotham,  Helmsley  found  excuse, — for 
the  death  of  Tom  there  was  ample  natural  cause, — but  for 
the  wanton  killing  of  a  little  child  no  reason  could  justly  be 
assigned.  Propping  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  resting 
his  aching  head  on  his  hands,  he  thought  and  thought, — till 
Thought  became  almost  as  a  fire  in  his  brain.  What  was 
the  use  of  life?  he  asked  himself.  What  definite  plan  or 
object  could  there  possibly  be  in  the  perpetuation  of  the 
human  race? 

"  To  pace   the   same   dull   round 

On  each  recurring  day, 
For  seventy  years  or  more 

Till  strength  and  hope  decay, — 
To  trust, — and  be  deceived, — 
And  standing, — fear  to  fall ! 
To  find  no  resting-place — 
Can  this  be  all?  " 

Beginning  with  hope  and  eagerness,  and  having  confidence 
In  the  good  faith  of  his  fellow-men,  had  he  not  himself 
fought  a  hard  fight  in  the  world,  setting  before  him  a  cer- 
tain goal, — a  goal  which  he  had  won  and  passed, — to  what 
purpose?  In  youth  he  had  been  very  poor, — and  poverty 
had  served  him  as  a  spur  to  ambition.  In  middle  life  he 
had  become  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  world.  He  had 
done  all  that  rich  and  ambitious  men  set  themselves  out  to 
do.  He  might  have  said  with  the  Preacher: 


"  Whatsoever  mine  eyes  desired  I  kept  not  from  them, — 
I  withheld  not  my  heart  from  any  joy,  for  my  heart  rejoiced 
in  all  my  labour,  and  this  was  my  portion  of  all  my  labour. 
Then  I  looked  on  all  the  works  that  my  hands  had  wrought, 
and  on  the  labour  that  I  had  laboured  to  do,  and  behold,  all 
was  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,  and  there  was  no  profit 
under  the  sun." 

He  had  loved, — or  rather,  he  had  imagined  he  loved, — 
he  had  married,  and  his  wife  had  dishonoured  him.  Sons 
had  been  born  to  him,  who,  with  their  mother's  treacherous 
blood  in  their  veins,  had  brought  him  to  shame  by  their  con- 
duct,— and  now  all  the  kith  and  kin  he  had  sought  to  sur- 
round himself  with  were  dead,  and  he  was  alone — as  alone 
as  he  had  ever  been  at  the  very  commencement  of  his  career. 
Had  his  long  life  of  toil  led  him  only  to  this?  With  a  sense 
of  dull  disappointment,  his  mind  reverted  to  the  plan  he  had 
half  entertained  of  benefiting  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  in  some  way 
and  making  him  happy  by  prospering  the  fortunes  of  the 
child  he  loved  so  well, — though  he  was  fully  aware  that 
perhaps  he  could  not  have  done  much  in  that  direction,  as 
it  was  more  than  likely  that  Tom  would  have  resented  the 
slightest  hint  of  a  rich  man's  patronage.  Death,  however, 
in  its  fiercest  shape,  had  now  put  an  abrupt  end  to  any  such 
benevolent  scheme,  whether  or  not  it  might  have  been  feasi- 
ble,— and,  absorbed  in  a  kind  of  lethargic  reverie,  he  again 
and  again  asked  himself  what  use  he  was  in  the  world? — 
what  could  he  do  with  the  brief  remaining  portion  of  his 
life? — and  how  he  could  dispose,  to  his  own  satisfaction,  of 
the  vast  wealth  which,  like  a  huge  golden  mill-stone,  hung 
round  his  neck,  dragging  him  down  to  the  grave?  Such 
poor  people  as  he  had  met  with  during  his  tramp  seemed 
fairly  contented  with  their  lot ;  he,  at  any  rate,  had  heard  no 
complaints  of  poverty  from  them.  On  the  contrary,  they  had 
shown  an  independence  of  thought  and  freedom  of  life  which 
was  wholly  incompatible  with  the  mere  desire  of  money. 
He  could  put  a  five-pound  note  in  an  envelope  and  post  it 
anonymously  to  Matt  Peke  at  the  "  Trusty  Man  "  as  a  slight 
return  for  his  kindness,  but  he  was  quite  sure  that  though 
Matt  might  be  pleased  enough  with  the  money  he  would 
equally  be  puzzled,  and  not  entirely  satisfied  in  his  mind  as 
to  whether  he  was  doing  right  to  accept  and  use  it.  It 
would  probably  be  put  in  a  savings  bank  for  a  "  rainy  day." 

"  It  is  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  do  good  with 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   163 

money !  "  he  mused,  sorrowfully.  "  Of  course  if  I  were  to 
say  this  to  the  unthinking  majority,  they  would  gape  upon 
me  and  exclaim — '  Hard  to  do  good !  Why,  there's  nothing 
so  easy !  There  are  thousands  of  poor, — there  are  the  hos- 
pitals— the  churches ! '  True, — but  the  thousands  of  real 
poor  are  not  so  easily  found !  There  are  thousands,  ay,  mil- 
lions of  '  sham '  poor.  But  the  real  poor,  who  never  ask 
for  anything, — who  would  not  know  how  to  write  a  beg- 
ging letter,  and  who  would  shrink  from  writing  it  even  if 
they  did  know — who  starve  patiently,  suffer  uncomplain- 
ingly, and  die  resignedly — these  are  as  difficult  to  meet  with 
as  diamonds  in  a  coal  mine.  As  for  hospitals,  do  I  not  know 
how  many  of  them  pander  to  the  barbarous  inhumanity  of 
vivisection ! — and  have  I  not  experienced  to  the  utmost  dregs 
of  bitterness,  the  melting  of  cash  through  the  hands  of  secre- 
taries and  under-secretaries,  and  general  Committee-ism, 
and  Red  Tape-ism,  while  every  hundred  thousand  pounds 
bestowed  on  these  necessary  institutions  turns  out  in  the  end 
to  be  a  mere  drop  in  the  sea  of  incessant  demand,  though  the 
donors  may  possibly  purchase  a  knighthood,  a  baronetcy,  or 
even  a  peerage,  in  return  for  their  gifts !  And  the  churches  ! 
— my  God! — as  Madame  Roland  said  of  Liberty,  what 
crimes  are  committed  in  Thy  Name !  " 

He  looked  up  at  the  sky  through  the  square  opening  of 
the  shed,  and  saw  the  moon,  now  changed  in  appearance 
and  surrounded  by  a  curious  luminous  halo  like  the  nimbus 
with  which  painters  encircle  the  head  of  a  saint.  It  was  a 
delicate  aureole  of  prismatic  radiance,  and  seemed  to  have 
swept  suddenly  round  the  silver  planet  in  companionship 
with  a  light  mist  from  the  sea, — a  mist  which  was  now  creep- 
ing slowly  upwards  and  covering  the  land  with  a  glistening 
wetness  as  of  dew.  A  few  fleecy  clouds,  pale  grey  and 
white,  were  floating  aloft  in  the  western  half  of  the  heavens, 
evoked  by  some  magic  touch  of  the  wind. 

"  It  will  soon  be  morning," — thought  Helmsley — "  The 
sun  will  rise  in  its  same  old  glorious  way — with  as  measured 
and  monotonous  a  circuit  as  it  has  made  from  the  beginning. 
The  Garden  of  Eden,  the  Deluge,  the  building  of  the 
Pyramids,  the  rise  and  fall  of  Rome,  the  conquests  of  Alex- 
ander, the  death  of  Socrates,  the  murder  of  Caesar,  the 
Crucifixion  of  Christ, — the  sun  has  shone  on  all  these  things 
of  beauty,  triumph  or  horror  with  the  same  even  radiance, 
always  the  generator  of  life  and  fruitfulness,  itself  indiffer- 


164      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

ent  as  to  what  becomes  of  the  atoms  germinated  under  its 
prolific  heat  and  vitality.  The  sun  takes  no  heed  whether 
a  man  dies  or  lives — neither  does  God !  " 

Yet  with  this  idea  came  a  sudden  revulsion.  Surely  in 
the  history  of  human  events,  there  was  ample  proof  that 
God,  or  the  invisible  Power  we  call  by  that  name,  did  care  ? 
Crime  was,  and  is,  always  followed  by  punishment,  sooner 
or  later.  Who  ordained, — who  ordains  that  this  shall  be? 
Who  is  it  that  distinguishes  between  Right  and  Wrong,  and 
adjusts  the  balance  accordingly?  Not  Man, — for  Man  in  a 
barbarous  state  is  often  incapable  of  understanding  moral 
law,  till  he  is  trained  to  it  by  the  evolution  of  his  being  and 
the  ever-progressive  working  of  the  unseen  spiritual  forces. 
And  the  first  process  of  his  evolution  is  the  awakening  of 
conscience,  and  the  struggle  to  rise  from  his  mere  Self  to  a 
higher  ideal  of  life, — from  material  needs  to  intellectual  de- 
velopment. Why  is  he  thus  invariably  moved  towards  this 
higher  ideal?  If  the  instinct  were  a  mistaken  one,  fore- 
doomed to  disappointment,  it  would  not  be  allowed  to  exist. 
Nature  does  not  endow  us  with  any  sense  of  which  we  do 
not  stand  in  need,  or  any  attribute  which  is  useless  to  us  in 
the  shaping  and  unfolding  of  our  destinies.  True  it  is  that 
we  see  many  a  man  and  woman  who  appear  to  have  no  souls, 
but  we  dare  not  infer  from  these  exceptions  that  the  soul 
does  not  exist.  Soulless  beings  simply  have  no  need  of 
spirituality,  just  as  the  night-owl  has  no  need  of  the  sun, 
— they  are  bodies  merely,  and  as  bodies  perish.  As  the  angel 
said  to  the  prophet  Esdras : — "  The  Most  High  hath  made 
this  world  for  many,  but  the  world  to  come  for  few.  I 
will  tell  thee  a  similitude,  Esdras ;  As  when  thou  askest  the 
earth,  it  shall  say  unto  thee  that  it  giveth  much  mould 
whereof  earthern  vessels  are  made,  but  little  dust  that  gold 
cometh  of,  even  so  is  the  course  of  this  present  world !  " 

Weary  of  arguing  with  himself,  Helmsley  tried  to  reflect 
back  on  certain  incidents  of  his  youth,  which  now  in  his 
age  came  out  like  prominent  pictures  in  the  gallery  of  his 
brain.  He  remembered  the  pure  and  simple  piety  which 
distinguished  his  mother,  who  lived  her  life  out  as  sweetly  as 
a  flower  blooms, — thanking  God  every  morning  and  night 
for  His  goodness  to  her,  even  at  times  when  she  was  most 
sorrowful, — he  thought  of  his  little  sister,  dead  in  the  spring- 
time of  her  girlhood,  who  never  had  a  doubt  of  the  unfailing 
goodness  and  beneficence  of  her  Creator,  and  who,  when 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   165 

dying,  smiled  radiantly,  and  whispered  with  her  last  breath, 
"  I  wish  you  would  not  cry  for  me,  Davie  dear ! — the  next 
world  is  so  beautiful !  "  Was  this  "  next  world  "  in  her 
imagination,  or  was  it  a  fact  ?  Materialists  would,  of  course, 
say  it  was  imagination.  .But,  in  the  light  of  present-day 
science  and  discovery,  who  can  pin  one's  faith  on 
Materialism  ? 

"  I  have  missed  the  talisman  that  would  have  made  all 
the  darkness  of  life  clear  to  me,"  he  said  at  last,  half  aloud ; 
"  and  missing  it,  I  have  missed  everything  of  real  value. 
Pain,  loss,  old  age,  and  death  would  have  been  nothing  to 
me,  if  I  had  only  won  that  magic  glory  of  the  world — 
Love!" 

His  eyes  again  wandered  to  the  sky,  and  he  noticed  that 
the  grey-and-white  clouds  in  the  west  were  rising  still  higher 
in  fleecy  pyramids,  and  were  spreading  with  a  wool-like 
thickness  gradually  over  the  whole  heavens.  The  wind, 
too,  had  grown  stronger,  and  its  sighing  sound  had  changed 
to  a  more  strenuous  moaning.  The  little  dog,  Charlie,  tired 
of  its  master's  gloomy  absorption,  jumped  on  his  knee,  and 
intimated  by  eloquent  looks  and  wagging  tail  a  readiness  to 
be  again  nestled  into  some  cosy  corner.  The  shed  was  warm 
and  comfortable,  and  after  some  brief  consideration,  he  de- 
cided to  try  and  sleep  for  an  hour  or  so  before  again  start- 
ing on  his  way.  With  this  object  in  view,  he  arranged  the 
packages  of  straw  which  filled  one  side  of  the  shed  into  the 
form  of  an  extemporary  couch,  which  proved  comfortable 
enough  when  he  lay  down  with  Charlie  curled  up  beside  him. 
He  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  previous  night,  when  he 
had  seen  the  tall  figure  of  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  approaching 
his  bedside  at  the  "  Trusty  Man,"  with  the  little  "  surprise  " 
gift  he  had  so  stealthily  laid  upon  his  pillow, — and  it  was 
difficult  to  realise  or  to  believe  that  the  warm,  impulsive 
heart  had  ceased  to  beat,  and  that  all  that  splendid  manhood 
was  now  but  lifeless  clay.  He 'tried  not  to  see  the  horribly 
haunting  vision  of  the  murdered  Wrotham,  with  that  ter- 
rible gash  in  his  throat,  and  the  blood  pouring  from  it, — he 
strove  to  forget  the  pitiful  picture  of  the  little  dead  "  Kiddie  " 
in  the  arms  of  its  maddened  and  broken-hearted  father — but 
the  impression  was  too  recent  and  too  ghastly  for  forgetful- 
ness. 

"And  yet  with  it  all,"  he  mused,  "  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  had 
what  I  have  never  possessed — love !  And  perhaps  it  is  bet- 


166      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

ter  to  die — even  in  the  awful  way  he  died — in  the  very 
strength  and  frenzy  of  love — rather  than  live  loveless !  " 

Here  Charlie  heaved  a  small  sigh,  and  nestled  a  soft  silky 
head  close  against  his  breast.  "  I  love  you !  "  the  little  crea- 
ture seemed  to  say — "  I  am  only  a  dog — but  I  want  to  com- 
fort you  if  I  can ! "  And  he  murmured — "  Poor  Charlie ! 
Poor  wee  Charlie ! "  and,  patting  the  flossy  coat  of  his 
foundling,  was  conscious  of  a  certain  consolation  in  the 
mere  companionship  of  an  animal  that  trusted  to  him  for 
protection. 

Presently  he  'closed  his  eyes  and  tried  to  sleep.  His  brain 
was  somewhat  confused,  and  scraps  of  old  songs  and  verses 
he  had  known  in  boyhood,  were  jumbled  together  without 
cause  or  sequence,  varying  in  their  turn  with  the  events  o£ 
his  business,  his  financial  "  deals  "  and  the  general  results 
of  his  life's  work.  He  remembered  quite  suddenly  and  for 
no  particular  reason,  a  battle  he  had  engaged  in  with  cer- 
tain directors  of  a  company  who  had  attempted  to  "  better  " 
him  in  a  particularly  important  international  trade  transac- 
tion, and  he  recalled  his  own  sweeping  victory  over  them 
with  a  curious  sense  of  disgust.  What  did  it  matter — now  ? 
— whether  he  had  so  many  extra  millions,  or  so  many  more 
degrees  of  power?  Certain  lines  of  Tennyson's  seemed  to 
contain  greater  truths  than  all  the  money-markets  of  the 
world  £ould  supply : — 

"  O  let  the  solid  earth 

Not  fail  beneath  my  feet, 
Before  my  life  has  found 

What  some  have  found  so  sweet — ; 
Then  let  come  what  come  may, 

What  matter  if  I  go  mad, 
I  shall  have  had  my  day! 

"  Let  the  sweet  heavens  endure 

Not  close  and  darken  above  me, 
Before  I  am  quite,  quite  sure 

That  there  is  one  to  love  me ; 
Then  let  come  what  come  may 

To  a  life  that  has  been  so  sad, 
I  shall  have  had  my  day ! " 

He  murmured  this  last  verse  over  and  over  again  till 
it  made  mere  monotony  in  his  mind,  and  till  at  last  ex- 
hausted nature  had  its  way  and  lulled  his  senses  into  a  pro- 
found slumber.  Strange  to  say,  as  soon  as  he  was  fast 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   167 

asleep,  Charlie  woke  up.  Perking  his  little  ears  sharply,  he 
sat  briskly  erect  on  his  tiny  haunches,  his  forepaws  well 
placed  on  his  master's  breast,  his  bright  eyes  watchfully 
fixed  on  the  opening  of  the  shed,  and  his  whole  attitude 
expressing  that  he  considered  himself  "  on  guard."  It  was 
evident  that  had  the  least  human  footfall  broken  the  still- 
ness, he  would  have  made  the  air  ring  with  as  much  noise 
as  he  was  capable  of.  He  had  a  vibrating  bark  of  his  own, 
worthy  of  a  much  larger  animal,  and  he  appeared  to  be 
anxiously  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  show  off  this  special 
accomplishment.  No  such  chance,  however,  offered  itself; 
the  minutes  and  hours  went  by  in  undisturbed  order.  Now 
and  then  a  rabbit  scampered  across  the  field,  or  an  owl  flew 
through  the  trees  with  a  plaintive  cry, — otherwise,  so  far  as 
the  immediate  surroundings  of  the  visible  land  were  con- 
cerned, everything  was  perfectly  calm.  But  up  in  the  sky 
there  were  signs  of  gathering  trouble.  The  clouds  had 
formed  into  woollier  masses, — their  grey  had  changed  to 
black,  their  white  to  grey,  and  the  moon,  half  hidden,  ap- 
peared to  be  hurrying  downward  to  the  west  in  a  flying  scud 
of  etheric  foam.  Some  disturbance  was  brewing  in  the 
higher  altitudes  of  air,  and  a  low  snarling  murmur  from 
the  sea  responded  to  what  was,  perchance,  the  outward  gust 
of  a  fire-tempest  in  the  sun.  The  small  Charlie  was,  no 
doubt,  quite  ignorant  of  meteorological  portents,  neverthe- 
less he  kept  himself  wide  awake,  sniffing  at  empty  space  in 
a  highly  suspicious  manner,  his  tiny  black  nose  moist  with 
aggressive  excitement,  and  his  whole  miniature  being  pre- 
pared to  make  "  much  ado  about  nothing  "  on  the  smallest 
provocation. 

The  morning  broke  sullenly,  in  a  dull  haze,  though  here 
and  there  pale  patches  of  blue,  and  flushes  of  rose-pink, 
showed  how  fair  the  day  would  willingly  have  made  itself, 
had  only  the  elements  been  propitious.  Helmsley  slept  well 
on  through  the  gradual  unfolding  of  the  dawn,  and  it  was 
fully  seven  o'clock  when  he  awoke  with  a  start,  scarcely 
knowing  where  he  was.  Charlie  hailed  his  return  to  con- 
sciousness with  marked  enthusiasm,  and  dropping  the  sentry 
"  Who  goes  there?"  attitude,  gambolled  about  him  delight- 
edly. Presently  remembering  his  environment  and  the 
events  which  were  a  part  of  it,  he  quickly  aroused  himself, 
and  carefully  packing  up  all  the  bundles  of  straw  in  the 
shed,  exactly  as  he  had  found  them,  he  again  went  forth  upon 


168      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

what  he  was  disposed  to  consider  now  a  penitential  pil- 
grimage. 

"  In  old  times,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  bathed  his  face 
and  hands  in  a  little  running  stream  by  the  roadside — 
"  kings,  when  they  found  themselves  miserable  and  did  not 
know  why  they  were  so,  went  to  the  church  for  consolation, 
and  were  told  by  the  priests  that  they  had  sinned — and  that 
it  was  their  sins  that  made  them  wretched.  And  a  journey 
taken  with  fasting  was  prescribed — much  in  the  way  that  our 
fashionable  physicians  prescribe  change  of  air,  a  limited  diet 
and  plenty  of  exercise  to  the  luxurious  feeders  of  our  social 
hive.  And  the  weary  potentates  took  off  their  crowns  and 
their  royal  robes,  and  trudged  along  as  they  were  told — be- 
came tramps  for  the  nonce,  like  me.  But  I  need  no  priest 
to  command  what  I  myself  ordain !  " 

He  resumed  his  onward  way  ploddingly  and  determinedly, 
though  he  was  beginning  to  be  conscious  of  an  increas- 
ing weariness  and  lassitude  which  seemed  to  threaten  him 
with  a  break-down  ere  long.  But  he  would  not  think  of 
this. 

"  Other  men  have  no  doubt  felt  just  as  weak,"  he  thought. 
"  There  are  many  on  the  road  as  old  as  I  am  and  even 
older.  I  ought  to  be  able  to  do  of  my  own  choice  what 
others  do  from  necessity.  And  if  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst,  and  I  am  compelled  to  give  up  my  project,  I  can 
always  get  back  to  London  in  a  few  hours !  " 

He  was  soon  at  Minehead,  and  found  that  quaint  little 
watering-place  fully  astir;  for  so  far  as  it  could  have  a 
"  season,"  that  season  was  now  on.  A  considerable  number 
of  tourists  were  about,  and  coaches  and  brakes  were  getting 
ready  in  the  streets  for  those  who  were  inclined  to  under- 
take the  twenty  miles  drive  from  Minehead  to  Lynton.  See- 
ing a  baker's  shop  open  he  went  in  and  asked  the  cheery- 
looking  woman  behind  the  counter  if  she  would  make  him 
a  cup  of  coffee,  and  let  him  have  a  saucer  of  milk  for  his 
little  dog.  She  consented  willingly,  and  showed  him  a  little 
inner  room,  where  she  spread  a  clean  white  cloth  on  the 
table  and  asked  him  to  sit  down.  He  looked  at  her  in  some 
surprise. 

"  I'm  only  '  on  the  road/  "  he  said — "  Don't  put  yourself 
out  too  much  for  me." 

She  smiled. 

"  You'll  pay  for  what  you've  ordered,  I  suppose  ?  " 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   169 

"Certainly!" 

"  Then  you'll  get  just  what  everybody  gets  for  their 
money," — and  her  smile  broadened  kindly — "  We  don't  make 
any  difference  between  poor  and  rich." 

She  retired,  and  he  dropped  into  a  chair,  wearily.  "  We 
don't  make  any  difference  between  poor  and  rich !  "  said 
this  simple  woman.  How  very  simple  she  was!  No  dif- 
ference between  poor  and  rich !  Where  would  "  society  " 
be  if  this  axiom  were  followed !  He  almost  laughed  to  think 
of  it.  A  girl  came  in  and  brought  his  coffee  with  a  plate  of 
fresh  bread-and-butter,  a  dish  of  Devonshire  cream,  a  pot 
of  jam,  and  a  small  round  basket  full  of  rosy  apples, — also 
a  saucer  of  milk  which  she  set  down  on  the  floor  for  Charlie, 
patting  him  kindly  as  she  did  so,  with  many  admiring  com- 
ments on  his  beauty. 

"  You've  brought  me  quite  a  breakfast !  "  said  Helmsley. 
"How  much?" 

"  Sixpence,  please." 

"  Only  sixpence  ?  " 

"  That's  all.     It's  a  shilling  with  ham  and  eggs." 

Helmsley  paid  the  humble  coin  demanded,  and  wondered 
where  the  "  starving  poor  "  came  in,  at  any  rate  in  Somer- 
setshire. Any  beggar  on  the  road,  making  sixpence  a  day, 
might  consider  himself  well  fed  with  such  a  meal.  Just  as 
he  drew  up  his  chair  to  the  table,  a  sudden  gust  of  wind 
swept  round  the  house,  shaking  the  whole  building, 
and  apparently  hurling  the  weight  of  its  fury  on  the  roof, 
for  it  sounded  as  if  a  whole  stack  of  chimney-pots  had 
fallen. 

"  It's  a  squall," — said  the  girl — "  Father  said  there  was  a 
storm  coming.  It  often  blows  pretty  hard  up  this  way." 

She  went  out,  and  left  Helmsley  to  himself.  He  ate  his 
meal,  and  fed  Charlie  with  as'  much  bread  and  milk  as  that 
canine  epicure  could  consume, — and  then  sat  for  a  while, 
listening  to  the  curious  hissing  of  the  wind,  which  was  like 
a  suppressed  angry  whisper  in  his  ears. 

"  It  will  be  rough  weather," — he  thought — "  Now  shall  I 
stay  in  Minehead,  or  go  on  ?  " 

Somehow,  his  experience  of  vagabondage  had  bred  in  him 
a  certain  restlessness,  and  he  did  not  care  to  linger  in  any 
one  place.  An  inexplicable  force  urged  him  on.  He  was 
conscious  that  he  entertained  a  most  foolish,  most  forlorn 
secret  hope, — that  of  finding  some  yet  unknown  consola- 


170      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

tion, — of  receiving  some  yet  unobtained  heavenly  benedic- 
tion.    And  he  repeated  again  the  lines : — 

"  Let  the  sweet  heavens  endure, 

Not  close  and  darken  above  me, 
Before  I  am  quite,  quite  sure 
That  there  is  one  to  love  me ! " 

Surely  a  Divine  Providence  there  was  who  could  read  his 
heart's  desire,  and  who  could  see  how  sincerely  in  earnest 
he  was  to  find  some  channel  wherein  the  current  of  his  ac- 
cumulated wealth  might  flow  after  his  own  death,  to  fruit- 
fulness  and  blessing  for  those  who  truly  deserved  it. 

"  Is  it  so  much  to  ask  of  destiny — just  one  honest  heart?  " 
he  inwardly  demanded — "  Is  it  so  large  a  return  to  want 
from  the  world  in  which  I  have  toiled  so  long — just  one 
unselfish  love?  People  would  tell  me  I  am  too  old  to  ex- 
pect such  a  thing, — but  I  am  not  seeking  the  love  of  a 
lover, — that  I  know  is  impossible.  But  Love, — that  most 
god-like  of  all  emotions,  has  many  phases,  and  a  merely 
sexual  attraction  is  the  least  and  worst  part  of  the  divine 
passion.  There  is  a  higher  form, — one  far  more  lasting  and 
perfect,  in  which  Self  has  very  little  part, — and  though  I 
cannot  give  it  a  name,  I  am  certain  of  its  existence !  " 

Another  gust  of  wind,  more  furious  than  the  last,  whistled 
overhead  and  through  the  crannies  of  the  door.  He  rose, 
and  tucking  Charlie  warmly  under  his  coat  as  before,  he 
went  out,  pausing  on  his  way  to  thank  the  mistress  of  the 
little  bakery  for  the  excellent  meal  he  had  enjoyed. 

"  Well,  you  won't  hurt  on  it,"  she  said,  smilingly ;  "  it's 
plain,  but  it's  wholesome.  That's  all  we  claim  for  it.  Are 
you  going  on  far  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  bound  for  a  pretty  long  tramp," — he  replied. 
"  I'm  walking  to  find  friends  in  Cornwall." 

She  opened  her  eyes  in  unfeigned  wonder  and  compassion. 

"Deary  me!"  she  ejaculated — "You've  a  stiff  road  be- 
fore you.  And  to-day  I'm  afraid  .you'll  be  in  for  a  storm." 

He  glanced  out  through  the  shop-window. 

"  It's  not  raining," — he  said. 

"  Not  yet, — but  it's  blowing  hard," — she  replied — "And 
it's  like  to  blow  harder." 

"Never  mind,  I  must  risk  it!"  And  he  lifted  his  cap; 
"Good-day!" 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   171 

"  Good-day !     A  safe  journey  to  you !  " 

"  Thank  you !  " 

And,  gratefully  acknowledging  the  kindly  woman's  part- 
ing nod  and  smile,  he  stepped  out  of  the  shop  into  the  street. 
There  he  found  the  wind  had  risen  indeed.  Showers  of 
blinding  dust  were  circling  in  the  air,  blotting  out  the  view, — 
the  sky  was  covered  with  masses  of  murky  cloud  drifting 
against  each  other  in  threatening  confusion' — and  there 
was  a  dashing  sound  of  the  sea  on  the  beach  which  seemed 
to  be  steadily  increasing  in  volume  and  intensity.  He  paused 
for  a  moment  under  the  shelter  of  an  arched  doorway,  to 
place  Charlie  more  comfortably  under  his  arm  and  button 
his  coat  more  securely,  the  while  he  watched  the  people  in 
the  principal  thoroughfare  struggling  with  the  capricious 
attacks  of  the  blast,  which  tore  their  hats  off  and  sent  them 
spinning  across  the  road,  and  played  mischievous  havoc  with 
women's  skirts,  blowing  them  up  to  the  knees,  and  making 
a  great  exhibition  of  feet,  few  of  which  were  worth  looking 
at  from  any  point  of  beauty  or  fitness.  And  then,  all  at 
once,  amid  the  whirling  of  the  gale,  he  heard  a  hoarse  sten- 
torian shouting — "Awful  Murder !  Local  Crime  !  Murder 
of  a  Nobleman  !  Murder  at  Blue  Anchor !  Latest  details !  " 
and  he  started  precipitately  forward,  walking  hurriedly  along 
with  as  much  nervous  horror  as  though  he  had  been  guiltily 
concerned  in  the  deed  with  which  the  town  was  ringing. 
Two  or  three  boys  ran  past  him,  with  printed  placards  in 
their  hands,  which  they  waved  in  front  of  them,  and  on 
which  in  thick  black  letters  could  be  seen : — "  Murder 
of  Lord  Wrotham !  Death  of  the  Murderer !  Appalling 
Tragedy  at  Blue  Anchor !  "  And,  for  a  few  seconds,  amid 
the  confusion  caused  by  the  wind,  and  the  wild  clamour 
of  the  newsvendors,  he  felt  as  if  every  one  were  reeling  pell- 
mell  around  him  like  persons  on  a  ship  at  sea, — men  with 
hats  blown  off, — women  and  children  running  aslant  against 
the  gale  with  hair  streaming, — all  eager  to  purchase  the  first 
papers  which  contained  the  account  of  a  tragedy,  enacted,  as 
it  were,  at  their  very  doors.  Outside  a  little  glass  and  china 
shop  at  the  top  of  a  rather  hilly  street  a  group  of  working- 
men  were  standing,  with  the  papers  they  had  just  bought 
in  their  hands,  and  Helmsley,  as  he  trudged  by,  with  stoop- 
ing figure  and  bent  head  set  against  the  wind,  lingered  near 
them  a  moment  to  hear  them  discuss  the  news. 


172      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"Ah,  poor  Tom  !  "  exclaimed  one — "  Gone  at  last !  I 
mind  me  well  how  he  used  to  say  he'd  die  a  bad  death !  " 

"  What's  a  bad  death  ?  "  queried  another,  gruffly — "And 
what's  the  truth  about  this  here  business  anyhow?  News- 
papers is  allus  full  o'  lies.  There's  a  lot  about  a  lord  that's 
killed,  but  precious  little  about  Tom !  " 

"  That's  so !  "  said  an  old  farmer,  who  with  spectacles  on 
was  leaning  his  back  against  the  wall  of  the  shop  near  which 
they  stood,  to  shelter  himself  a  little  from  the  force  of  the 
gale,  while  he  read  the  paper  he  held — "  See  here, — this  lord 
was  driving  his  motor  along  by  Cleeve,  and  ran  over  Tom's 
child, — why,  that's  the  poor  Kiddie  we  used  to  see  Tom  car- 
rying for  miles  on  his  shoulder " 

"Ah,  the  poor  lamb !  "  And  a  commiserating  groan  ran 
through  the  little  group  of  attentive  listeners. 

"And  then," — continued  the  farmer — "  from  what  I  can 
make  out  of  this  paper,  Tom  picked  up  his  baby  quite  dead. 
Then  he  started  to  run  all  the  way  after  the  fellow  whose 
motor  car  had  killed  it.  That's  nat'ral  enough !  " 

"  Of  course  it  is !  "  "  I'd  a'  done  it  myself !  "  "  Damn 
them  motors !  "  muttered  the  chorus,  fiercely. 

"  If  so  be  the  motor  'ad  gone  on,  Tom  couldn't  never  'ave 
caught  up  with  it,  even  if  he'd  run  till  he  dropped,"  went  on 
the  farmer — "  but  as  luck  would  'ave  it,  the  thing  broke 
down  nigh  to  Blue  Anchor,  and  Tom  got  his  chance. 
Which  he  took.  And — he  killed  this  Lord  Wrotham,  who- 
ever he  is, — stuck  him  in  the  throat  with  a  knife  as  though 
he  were  a  pig !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  horrified  silence. 

"  So  he  wor !  "  said  one  man,  emphatically — "A  right- 
down  reg'lar  road-hog ! " 

"  Then," — proceeded  the  farmer,  carefully  studying  the 
paper  again — "  Tom,  'avin'  done  all  his  best  an'  worst  in 
this  world,  gives  himself  up  to  the  police,  but  just  'afore 
goin'  off, -asks  if  he  may  kiss  his  dead  baby, " 

A  long  pause  here  ensued.  Tears  stood  in  many  of  the 
men's  eyes. 

"And,"  continued  the  farmer,  with  a  husky  and  trembling 
voice — "  he  takes  the  child  in  his  arms,  an'  all  sudden  like 
falls  down  dead.  God  rest  him !  " 

Another  pause. 

"  And  what  does  the  paper  say  about  it  all  ?  "  enquired 
one  of  the  group. 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN      J73 

"  It  says — wait  a  minute ! — it  says — '  Society  will  be 
plunged  into  mourning1  for  Lord  Wrotham,  who  was  one 
of  the  most  promising  of  our  younger  peers,  and  whose 
sporting  tendencies  made  him  a  great  favourite  in  Court 
circles.' " 

"  That's  a  bit  o'  bunkum  paid  for  by  the  fam'ly !  "  said  a 
great  hulking  drayman  who  had  joined  the  little  knot  of 
bystanders,  flicking  his  whip  as  he  spoke, — "  Sassiety 
plunged  into  mourning  for  the  death  of  a  precious  raskill, 
is  it  ?  I  'xpect  it's  often  got  to  mourn  that  way !  Rort  an' 
rubbish!  Tell  ye  what! — Tom  o'  the  Gleam  was  worth  a 
dozen  o'  your  motorin'  lords! — an'  the  hull  country-side 
through  Quantocks,  ay,  an'  even  across  Exmoor,  'ull  'ave 
tears  for  'im  an'  'is  pretty  little  Kiddie  what  didn't  do  no 
'arm  to  anybody  more'n  a  lamb  skippin'  in  the  fields.  Tom 
worn't  known  in  their  blessed  '  Court  circles,' — but,  by  the 
Lord ! — he'd  got  a  grip  o'  the  people's  heart  about  here,  an' 
the  people  don't  forget  their  friends  in  a  hurry !  Who  the 
devil  cares  for  Lord  Wrotham ! " 

"  Who  indeed !  "  murmured  the  chorus. 

"  An'  who'll  say  a  bad  word  for  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  ?  " 

"Nobody!"  "  He  wor  a  rare  fine  chap !  "  "  We'll  all 
miss  him !  "  eagerly  answered  the  chorus. 

With  a  curious  gesture,  half  of  grief,  half  of  defiance,  the 
drayman  tore  a  scrap  of  black  lining  from  his  coat,  and  tied 
it  to  his  whip. 

"  Tom  was  pretty  well  known  to  be  a  terror  to  some 
folk, — specially  liars  an'  raskills," — he  said — "An'  I  aint 
excusin'  murder.  But  all  the  same  I'm  in  mourning  for 
Tom  an'  'is  little  Kiddie,  an'  I  don't  care  who  knows  it !  " 

He  went  off,  and  the  group  dispersed,  partly  driven  asun- 
der by  the  increasing  fury  of  the  wind,  which  was  now 
sweeping  through  the  streets  in  strong,  steady  gusts, 
hurling  everything  before  it.  But  Helmsley  set  his  face 
to  the  storm  and  toiled  on.  He  must  get  out  of  Minehead. 
This  he  felt  to  be  imperative.  He  could  not  stay  in  a  town 
which  now  for  many  days  would  talk  of  nothing  else  but  the 
tragic  death  of  Tom  o'  the  Gleam.  His  nerves  were  shaken, 
and  he  felt  himself  to  be  mentally,  as  well  as  physically,  dis- 
tressed by  the  strange  chance  which  had  associated  him 
against  his  will  with  such  a  grim  drama  of  passion  and 
revenge.  He  remembered  seeing  the  fateful  motor  swing 
down  that  precipitous  road  near  Cleeve, — he  recalled  its 


174      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

narrow  escape  from  a  complete  upset  at  the  end  of  the 
declivity  when  it  had  swerved  round  the  corner  and  rushed 
on, — how  little  he  .had  dreamed  that  a  child's  life  had  just 
been  torn  away  by  its  reckless  wheels ! — and  that  child  the 
all-in-the-world  to  Tom  o'  the  Gleam !  Tom  must  have 
tracked  the  motor  by  following  some  side-lane  or  short  cut 
known  only  to  himself,  otherwise  Helmsley  thought  he 
would  hardly  have  escaped  seeing  him.  But,  in  any  case, 
the  slow  and  trudging  movements  of  an  old  man  must  have 
lagged  far,  far  behind  those  of  the  strong,  fleet-footed  gypsy 
to  whom  the  wildest  hills  and  dales,  cliffs  and  sea  caves  were 
all  familiar  ground.  Like  a  voice  from  the  grave,  the  reply 
Tom  had  given  to  Matt  Peke  at  the  "  Trusty  Man,"  when 
Matt  asked  him  where  he  had  come  from,  rang  back  upon 
his  ears — "  From  the  caves  of  Cornwall !  From  picking  up 
drift  on  the  shore  and  tracking  seals  to  their  lair  in  the  hol- 
lows of  the  rocks!  All  sport,  Matt!  I  live  like  a  gentle- 
man born,  keeping  or  killing  at  my  pleasure !  " 

Shuddering  at  this  recollection,  Helmsley  pressed  on  in 
the  teeth  of  the  blast,  and  a  sudden  shower  of  rain  scudded 
by,  stinging  him  in  the  face  with  the  sharpness  of  needle- 
points. The  gale  was  so  high,  and  the  blown  dust  so  thick 
on  all  sides,  that  he  could  scarcely  see  where  he  was  going, 
but  his  chief  effort  was  to  get  out  of  Minehead  and  away 
from  all  contact  with  human  beings — for  the  time.  In  this 
he  succeeded  very  soon.  Once  well  beyond  the  town,  he 
did  not  pause  to  make  a  choice  of  roads.  He  only  sought  to 
avoid  the  coast  line,  rightly  judging  that  way  to  lie  most 
open  and  exposed  to  the  storm, — moreover  the  wind  swooped 
in  so  fiercely  from  the  sea,  and  the  rising  waves  made  such 
a  terrific  roaring,  that,  for  the  mere  sake  of  greater  quietness, 
he  turned  aside  and  followed  a  path  which  appeared  to  lead 
invitingly  into  some  deep  hollow  of  the  hills.  There  seemed 
a  slight  chance  of  the  weather  clearing  at  noon,  for  though 
the  wind  was  so  high,  the  clouds  were  whitening  under  pass- 
ing gleams  of  sunlight,  and  the  scud  of  rain  had  passed.  As 
he  walked  further  and  further  he  found  himself  entering  a 
deep  green  valley — a  cleft  between  high  hills, — and  though 
he  had  no  idea  which  way  it  led  him,  he  was  pleased  to 
have  reached  a  comparatively  sheltered  spot  where  the  force 
of  the  hurricane  was  not  so  fiercely  felt,  and  where  the  angry 
argument  of  the  sea  was  deadened  by  distance.  There  was 
a  lovely  perfume  everywhere, — the  dash  of  rain  on  the  herbs 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN      175 

"""'"  i£ 

and  field  flowers  had  brought  out  their  scent,  and  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  stormy  atmosphere  was  bracing  and  exhilarating. 
He  put  Charlie  down  on  the  grass,  and  was  amused  to  see 
how  obediently  the  tiny  creature  trotted  after  him,  close  at 
his  heels,  in  the  manner  of  a  well-trained,  well-taught  lady's 
favourite.  There  was  no  danger  of  wheeled  or  motor  traf- 
fic in  this  peaceful  little  glen,  which  appeared  to  be  used 
solely  by  pedestrians.  He  rather  wondered  now  and  then 
whither  it  led,  but  was  not  very  greatly  concerned  on  the 
subject.  What  pleased  him  most  was  that  he  did  not  see  a 
single  human  being  anywhere  or  a  sign  of  human  habitation. 

Presently  the  path  began  to  ascend,  and  he  followed  it 
upward.  The  climb  became  gradually  steep  and  wearisome, 
and  the  track  grew  smaller,  almost  vanishing  altogether 
among  masses  of  loose  stones,  which  had  rolled  down  from 
the  summits  of  the  hills,  and  he  had  again  to  carry  Charlie, 
who  very  strenuously  objected  to  the  contact  of  sharp  flints 
against  his  dainty  little  feet.  The  boisterous  wind  now  met 
him  full-faced, — but,  struggling  against  it,  he  finally  reached 
a  wide  plateau,  commanding  a  view  of  the  surrounding 
country  and  the  sea.  Not  a  house  was  in  sight ; — all  around 
him  extended  a  chain  of  hills,  like  a  fortress  set  against  in- 
vading ocean, — and  straight  away  before  his  eyes  ocean  itself 
rose  and  fell  in  a  chaos  of  billowy  blackness.  What  a  sight 
it  was !  Here,  from  this  point,  he  could  take  some  measure 
and  form  some  idea  of  the  storm,  which  so  far  from  abating 
as  he  had  imagined  it  might,  when  passing  through  the  pro- 
tected seclusion  of  the  valley  he  had  just  left,  was  evidently 
gathering  itself  together  for  a  still  fiercer  onslaught. 

Breathless  with  his  climbing  exertions  he  stood  watching 
the  huge  walls  of  water,  built  up  almost  solidly  as  it  seemed, 
by  one  force  and  dashed  down  again  by  another, — it  was  as 
though  great  mountains  lifted  themselves  over  each  other 
to  peer  at  the  sky  and  were  driven  back  again  to  shapeless- 
ness  and  destruction.  The  spectacle  was  all  the  more  grand 
and  impressive  to  him,  because  where  he  now  was  he  could 
not  hear  the  full  clamour  of  the  rolling  and  retreating  bil- 
lows. The  thunder  of  the  surf  was  diminished  to  a  sullen 
moan,  which  came  along  with  the  wind  and  clung  to  it  like 
a  concordant  note  in  music,  forming  one  sustained  chord  of 
wrath  and  desolation.  Darkening  steadily  over  the  sea  and 
densely  over-spreading  the  whole  sky,  there  were  flying 
clouds  of  singular  shape, — clouds  tossed  up  into  the  mo- 


176      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

i 

mentary  similitude  of  Titanesque  human  figures  with  threat- 
ening arms  outstretched, — anon,  to  the  filmly  outlines  of 
fabulous  birds  swooping  downwards  with  jagged  wings  and 
ravenous  beaks, — or  twisting  into  columns  and  pyramids  of 
vapour  as  though  the  showers  of  foam  flung  up  by  the  waves 
had  been  caught  in  mid-air  and  suddenly  frozen.  Several 
sea-gulls  were  flying  inland ;  two  or  three  soared  right  over 
Helmsley's  head  with  a  plaintive  cry.  He  turned  to  watch 
their  graceful  flight,  and  saw  another  phalanx  of  clouds 
coming  up  behind  to  meet  and  cope  with  those  already  hurry- 
ing in  with  the  wind  from  the  sea.  The  darkness  of  the  sky 
was  deepening  every  minute,  and  he  began  to  feel  a  little 
uneasy.  He  realised  that  he  had  lost  his  way,  and  he  looked 
on  all  sides  for  some  glimpse  of  a  main  road,  but  could  see 
none,  and  the  path  he  had  followed  evidently  terminated  at 
the  summit  where  he  stood.  To  return  to  the  valley  he  had 
left  seemed  futile,  as  it  was  only  a  way  back  to  Minehead, 
which  place  he  wished  to  avoid.  There  was  a  small  sheep 
track  winding  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  and  he 
thought  it  possible  that  this  might  lead  to  a  farm-road,  which 
again  might  take  him  out  on  some  more  direct  highway.  He 
therefore  started  to  follow  it.  He  could  scarcely  walk 
against  the  wind ;  it  blew  with  such  increasing  fury.  Charlie 
shivered  away  from  its  fierce  breath  and  snuggled  his  tiny 
body  more  warmly  under  his  protector's  arm,  withdrawing 
himself  entirely  from  view.  And  now  with  a  sudden  hissing 
whirl,  down  came  the  rain.  The  two  opposing  forces  of 
cloud  met  with  a  sudden  rush,  and  emptied  their  pent-up 
torrents  on  the  earth,  while  a  low  muttering  noise,  not  of  the 
wind,  betokened  thunder.  The  prolonged  heat  of  the  last 
month  had  been  very  great  all  over  the  country,  and  a  sup- 
pressed volcano  was  smouldering  in  the  heart  of  the  heavens, 
ready  to  shoot  forth  fire.  The  roaring  of  the  sea  grew  more 
distinct  as  Helmsley  descended  from  the  height  and  came 
nearer  to  the  coast  line, — and  the  mingled  scream  of  the 
angry  surf  on  the  shore  and  the  sword-like  sweep  of  the 
rain,  rang  in  his  ears  deafeningly,  with  a  kind  of  monotonous 
horror.  His  head  began  to  swim,  and  his  eyes  were  half 
blinded  by  the  sharp  showers  that  whipped  his  face  with 
blown  drops  as  hard  and  cold  as  hail.  On  he  went,  how- 
ever, more  like  a  struggling  dreamer  in  a  dream,  than 
with  actual  consciousness, — and  darker  and  wilder  grew  the 
storm.  A  forked  flash  of  lightning,  running  suddenly  like 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   177 

melted  lava  down  the  sky,  flung  half  a  second's  lurid  blue 
glare  athwart  the  deepening  blackness, — and  in  less  than 
two  minutes  it  was  followed  by  the  first  decisive  peal  of 
thunder  rolling  in  deep  reverberations  from  sea  to  land,  from 
land  to  sea  again.  The  war  of  the  elements  had  begun 
in  earnest  Amid  their  increasing  giant  wrath,  Helmsley 
stumbled  almost  unseeingly  along, — keeping  his  head  down 
and  leaning  more  heavily  than  was  his  usual  wont  upon  the 
stout  ash  stick  which  was  part  of  the  workman's  outfit  he 
had  purchased  for  himself  in  Bristol,  and  which  now  served 
him  as  his  best  support.  In  the  gathering  gloom,  with  his 
stooping  thin  figure,  he  looked  more  like  a  faded  leaf  flutter- 
ing in  the  gale  than  a  man,  and  he  was  beginning  now  to 
realise  with  keen  disappointment  that  his  strength  was  not 
equal  to  the  strain  he  had  been  putting  upon  it.  The  weight 
of  his  seventy  years  was  pressing  him  down, — and  a  sudden 
thrill  of  nervous  terror  ran  through  him  lest  his  whim  for 
wandering  should  cost  him  his  life. 

"And  if  I  were  to  die  of  exhaustion  out  here  on  the  hills, 
what  would  be  said  of  me?  "  he  thought — "  They  would  find 
my  body — perhaps — after  some  days ; — they  would  discover 
the  money  I  carry  in  my  vest  lining,  and  a  letter  to  Vesey 
which  would  declare  my  actual  identity.  Then  I  should  be 
called  a  fool  or  a  madman — most  probably  the  latter.  No 
one  would  know, — no  one  would  guess — except  Vesey — the 
real  object  with  which  I  started  on  this  wild  goose  chase 
after  the  impossible.  It  is  a  foolish  quest !  Perhaps  after 
all  I  had  better  give  it  up,  and  return  to  the  old  wearisome 
life  of  luxury, — the  old  ways! — and  die  in  my  bed  in  the 
usual  '  respectable '  style  of  the  rich,  with  expensive  doctors, 
nurses  and  medicines  set  in  order  round  me,  and  all  arrange- 
ments getting  ready  for  a  '  first-class  funeral '  !  " 

He  laughed  drearily.  Another  flash  of  lightning,  fol- 
lowed almost  instantaneously  by  a  terrific  crash  of  thunder, 
brought  him  to  a  pause.  He  was  now  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hill  which  he  had  ascended  from  the  other  side,  and  perceived 
a  distinct  and  well-trodden  path  which  appeared  to  lead  in  a 
circuitous  direction  towards  the  sea.  Here  there  seemed 
some  chance  of  getting  out  of  the  labyrinth  of  hills  into 
which  he  had  incautiously  wandered,  and,  summoning  up  his 
scattered  forces,  he  pressed  on.  The  path  proved  to  be 
an  interminable  winding  way, — first  up — then  down, — now 
showing  glimpses  of  the  raging  ocean,  now  dipping  over 


178      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

bare  and  desolate  lengths  of  land, — and  presently  it  turned 
abruptly  into  a  deep  thicket  of  trees.  Drenched  with  rain 
and  tired  of  fighting  against  the  boisterous  wind  which 
almost  tore  his  breath  away,  he  entered  this  dark  wood  with 
a  vague  sense  of  relief, — it  offered  some  sort  of  shelter,  and 
if  the  trees  attracted  the  lightning  and  he  were  struck  dead 
beneath  them,  what  did  it  matter  after  all!  One  way  of 
dying  was  as  good  (or  as  bad)  as  another ! 

The  over-arching  boughs  dripping  with  wet,  closed  over 
him  and  drew  him,  as  it  were,  into  their  dense  shadows, — 
the  wind  shrieked  after  him  like  a  scolding  fury,  but  its  rag- 
ing tone  grew  softer  as  he  penetrated  more  deeply  into  the 
sable-green  depths  of  heavily  foliaged  solitude.  His  weary 
feet  trod  gratefully  on  a  thick  carpet  of  pine  needles  and 
masses  of  the  last  year's  fallen  leaves, — and  a  strong  sweet 
scent  of  mingled  elderflower  and  sweetbriar  was  tossed  to 
him  on  every  gust  of  rain.  Here  the  storm  turned  itself  to 
music  and  revelled  in  a  glorious  symphony  of  sound. 

"  Oh  ye  Winds  of  God,  bless  ye  the  Lord ;  praise  Him  and 
magnify  Him  for  ever ! 

"  Oh  ye  Lightnings  and  Clouds,  bless  ye  the  Lord ;  praise 
Him  and  magnify  Him  for  ever !  " 

In  full  chords  of  passionate  praise  the  hurricane  swept 
its  grand  anthem  through  the  rustling,  swaying  trees,  as 
though  these  were  the  strings  of  a  giant  harp  on  which  some 
great  Archangel  played, — and  the  dash  and  roar  of  the  sea 
came  with  it,  rolling  in  the  track  of  another  mighty  peal  of 
thunder.  Helmsley  stopped  and  listened,  seized  by  an  over- 
powering enchantment  and  awe. 

"  This — this  is  Life  !  "  he  said,  half  aloud — "  Our  miser- 
able human  vanities — our  petty  schemes — our  poor  ambi- 
tions— what  are  they  ?  Motes  in  a  sunbeam ! — gone  as  soon 
as  realised !  But  Life, — the  deep,  self-contained  divine  Life 
of  Nature — this  is  the  only  life  that  lives  for  ever,  the  Im- 
mortality of  which  we  are  a  part !  " 

A  fierce  gust  of  wind  here  snapped  asunder  a  great  branch 
from  a  tree,  and  flung  it  straight  across  his  path.  Had  he 
been  a  few  inches  nearer,  it  would  have  probably  struck  him 
down  with  it.  Charlie  peeped  out  from  under  his  arm  with 
a  pitiful  little  whimper,  and  Helmsley's  heart  smote  him. 

"  Poor  wee  Charlie !  "  he  said,  fondling  the  tiny  head ;  "  I 
know  what  you  would  say  to  me !  You  would  say  that  if  I 
want  to  risk  my  own  life,  I  needn't  risk  yours !  Is  that  it  ? 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   179 

\Vell! — I'll  try  to  get  you  out  of  this  if  I  can!  I  wish  I 
could  see  some  sign  of  a  house  anywhere !  I'd  make  for  it 
and  ask  for  shelter." 

He  trudged  patiently  onwards, — but  he  was  beginning 
to  feel  unsteady  in  his  limbs, — and  every  now  and  then 
he  had  to  stop,  overcome  by  a  sickening  sensation  of  giddi- 
ness. The  tempest  had  now  fully  developed  into  a  heavy 
thunderstorm,  and  the  lightning  quivered  and  gleamed 
through  the  trees  incessantly,  followed  by  huge  claps  of 
thunder  which  clashed  down  without  a  second's  warning, 
afterwards  rolling  away  in  long  thudding  detonations  echo- 
ing for  miles  and  miles.  It  was  difficult  to  walk  at  all  in 
such  a  storm, — the  youngest  and  strongest  pedestrian  might 
have  given  way  under  the  combined  onslaught  of  rain,  wind, 
and  the  pattering  shower  of  leaves  which  were  literally  torn, 
fresh  and  green,  from  their  parent  boughs  and  cast  forth  to 
whirl  confusedly  amid  the  troubled  spaces  of  the  air.  And 
if  the  young  and  strong  would  have  found  it  hard  to  brave 
such  an  uproar  of  the  elements,  how  much  harder  was  it 
for  an  old  man,  who,  deeming  himself  stronger  than  he 
actually  was,  and  buoyed  up  by  sheer  nerve  and  mental 
obstinacy,  had,  of  his  own  choice,  brought  himself  into  this 
needless  plight  and  danger.  For  now,  in  utter  weariness  of 
body  and  spirit,  Helmsley  began  to  reproach  himself  bitterly 
for  his  rashness.  A  mere  caprice  of  the  imagination, — a 
fancy  that,  perhaps,  among  the  poor  and  lowly  he  might  find 
a  love  or  a  friendship  he  had  never  met  with  among  the  rich 
and  powerful,  was  all  that  had  led  him  forth  on  this  strange 
journey  of  which  the  end  could  but  be  disappointment  and 
failure ; — and  at  the  present  moment  he  felt  so  thoroughly 
conscious  of  his  own  folly,  that  he  almost  resolved  on 
abandoning  his  enterprise  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  once 
more  on  the  main  road. 

"  I  will  take  the  first  vehicle  that  comes  by," — he  said, 
"  and  make  for  the  nearest  railway  station.  And  I'll  end 
my  days  with  a  character  for  being  '  hard  as  nails !  ' — that's 
the  only  way  in  which  one  can  win  the  respectful  considera- 
tion of  one's  fellows  as  a  thoroughly  '  sane  and  sensible  ' 
man !  " 

Just  then,  the  path  he  was  following  started  sharply  up  a 
steep  acclivity,  and  there  was  no  other  choice  left  to  him 
but  still  to  continue  in  it,  as  the  trees  were  closing  in  blindly 
intricate  tangles  about  him,  and  the  brushwood  was  becom- 


180      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

ing  so  thick  that  he  could  not  have  possibly  forced  a  passage 
through  it.  His  footing  grew  more  difficult,  for  now,  in- 
stead of  soft  pine-needles  and  leaves  to  tread  upon,  there 
were  only  loose  stones,  and  the  rain  was  blowing  in  down- 
ward squalls  that  almost  by  their  very  fury  threw  him  back- 
ward on  the  ground.  Up,  still  up,  he  went,  however,  pant- 
ing painfully  as  he  climbed, — his  breath  was  short  and  un- 
easy— and  all  his  body  ached  and  shivered  as  with  strong 
ague.  At  last, — dizzy  and  half  fainting, — he  arrived  at  the 
top  of  the1  tedious  and  troublesome  ascent,  and  uttered  an 
involuntary  cry  at  the  scene  of  beauty  and  grandeur  stretched 
in  front  of  him.  How  far  he  had  walked  he  had  no  idea, — 
nor  did  he  know  how  many  hours  he  had  taken  in  walk- 
ing,— but  he  had  somehow  found  his  way  to  the  summit  of 
a  rocky  wooded  height,  from  which  he  could  survey  the 
whole  troubled  expanse  of  wild  sky  and  wilder  sea, — while 
just  below  him  the  hills  were  split  asunder  into  a  huge  cleft, 
or  "  coombe,"  running  straight  down  to  the  very  lip  of  ocean, 
with  rampant  foliage  hanging  about  it  on  either  side  in  lavish 
garlands  of  green,  and  big  boulders  piled  up  about  it,  from 
whose  smooth  surfaces  the  rain  swept  off  in  sleety  sheets, 
leaving  them  shining  like  polished  silver.  What  a  wild 
Paradise  was  here  disclosed ! — what  a  matchless  picture, 
called  into  shape  and  colour  with  all  the  forceful  ease  and 
perfection  of  Nature's  handiwork!  No  glimpse  of  human 
habitation  was  anywhere  visible ;  man  seemed  to  have  found 
no  dwelling  here ;  there  was  nothing — nothing,  but  Earth 
the  Beautiful,  and  her  Lover  the  Sea!  Over  these  twain 
the  lightnings  leaped,  and  the  thunder  played  in  the  sanctu- 
ary of  heaven, — this  hour  of  storm  was  all  their  own,  and 
humanity  was  no  more  counted  in  their  passionate  inter- 
mingling of  life  than  the  insects  on  a  leaf,  or  the  grains  of 
sand  on  the  shore.  For  a  moment  or  two  Helmsley's  eyes, 
straining  and  dim,  gazed  out  on  the  marvellously  bewitching 
landscape  thus  suddenly  unrolled  before  him, — then  all  at 
once  a  sharp  pain  running  through  his  heart  caused  him  to 
flinch  and  tremble.  It  was  a  keen  stab  of  anguish,  as  though 
a  knife  had  been  plunged  into  his  body. 

"  My  God !  "  he  muttered—"  What— what  is  this?  " 

Walking  feebly  to  a  great  stone  hard  by,  he  sat  down 

upon  it,  breathing  with  difficulty.     The  rain  beat  full  upon 

him,  but  he  did  not  heed  it;  he  sought  to  recover  from  the 

shock  of  that  horrible  pain, — to  overcome  the  creeping  sick 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   181 

sensation  of  numbness  which  seemed  to  be  slowly  freezing 
him  to  death.  With  a  violent  effort  he  tried  to  shake  the 
illness  off; — he  looked  up  at  the  sky — and  was  met  by  a 
blinding  flash  which  tore  the  clouds  asunder  and  revealed  a 
white  blaze  of  palpitating  fire  in  the  centre  of  the  black- 
ness— and  at  this  he  made  some  inarticulate  sound,  putting 
both  his  hands  before  his  face  to  hide  the  angry  mass  of 
flame.  In  so  doing  he  let  the  little  Charlie  escape,  who,  find- 
ing himself  out  of  his  warm  shelter  and  on  the  wet  grass, 
stood  amazed,  and  shivering  pitifully  under  the  torrents  of 
rain.  But  Helmsley  was  not  conscious  of  his  canine  friend's 
distress.  Another  pang,  cruel  and  prolonged,  convulsed 
him, — a  blood-red  mist  swam  before  his  eyes,  and  he  lost 
all  hold  on  sense  and  memory.  With  a  dull  groan  he  fell 
forward,  slipping  from  the  stone  on  which  he  had  been 
seated,  in  a  helpless  heap  on  the  ground, — involuntarily  he 
threw  up  his  arms  as  a  drowning  man  might  do  among  great 
waves  overwhelming  him, — and  so  went  down— down ! — into 
silence  and  unconsciousness. 


CHAPTER     XII 

THE  storm  raged  till  sunset ;  and  then  exhausted  by  its  own 
stress  of  fury,  began  to  roll  away  in  angry  sobs  across  the 
sea.  The  wind  sank  suddenly ;  the  rain  as  suddenly  ceased. 
A  wonderful  flush  of  burning  orange  light  cut  the  sky 
asunder,  spreading  gradually  upward  and  paling  into  fairest 
rose.  The  sullen  clouds  caught  brightness  at  their  sum- 
mits, and  took  upon  themselves  the  semblance  of  Alpine 
heights  touched  by  the  mystic  glory  of  the  dawn,  and  a  clear 
silver  radiance  flashed  across  the  ocean  for  a  second  and 
then  vanished,  as  though  a  flaming  torch  had  just  flared  up 
to  show  the  troublous  heaving  of  the  waters,  and  had  then 
been  instantly  quenched.  As  the  evening  came  on  the 
weather  steadily  cleared ; — and  presently  a  pure,  calm,  dark- 
blue  expanse  of  ether  stretched  balmily  across  the  whole 
width  of  the  waves,  with  the  evening  star — the  Star  of 
Love — glimmering  faintly  aloft  like  a  delicate  jewel  hang- 
ing on  the  very  heart  of  the  air.  Far  away  down  in  the 
depths  of  the  "  coombe,"  a  church  bell  rang  softly  for  some 
holy  service, — and  when  David  Helmsley  awoke  at  last  from 
his  death-like  swoon  he  found  himself  no  longer  alone.  A 
woman  knelt  beside  him,  supporting  him  in  her  arms, — and 
when  he  looked  up  at  her  wonderingly,  he  saw  two  eyes 
bent  upon  him  with  such  watchful  tenderness  that  in  his 
weak,  half-conscious  state  he  fancied  he  must  be  wandering 
somewhere  through  heaven  if  the  stars  were  so  near.  He 
tried  to  speak — to  move, — but  was  checked  by  a  gentle  pres- 
sure of  the  protecting  arms  about  him. 

"  Better  now,  dearie  ?  "  murmured  a  low  anxious  voice. 
"That's  right!  Don't  try  to  get  up  just  yet — take  time! 
Let  the  strength  come  back  to  you  first !  " 

Who  was  it — who  could  it  be,  that  spoke  to  him  with  such 
affectionate  solicitude  ?  He  gazed  and  gazed  and  marvelled, 
— but  it  was  too  dark  to  see  the  features  of  his  rescuer. 
As  consciousness  grew  more  vivid,  he  realised  that  he  was 
leaning  against  her  bosom  like  a  helpless  child, — that  the 
wet  grass  was  all  about  him, — and  that  he  was  cold, — very 

182 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   183 

cold,  with  a  coldness  as  of  some  enclosing  grave.  Sense 
and  memory  returned  to  him  slowly  with  sharp  stabs  of 
physical  pain,  and  presently  he  found  utterance. 

"  You  are  very  kind !  "  he  muttered,  feebly — "  I  begin 
to  recollect  now — I  had  walked  a  long  way — and  I  was 
caught  in  the  storm — I  felt  ill, — very  ill ! — I  suppose  I  must 
have  fallen  down  here " 

"  That's  it !  "  said  the  woman,  gently—"  Don't  try  to  think 
about  it!  You'll  be  better  presently." 

He  closed  his  eyes  wearily, — then  opened  them  again, 
struck  by  a  sudden  self-reproach  and  anxiety. 

"The  little  dog?"  he  asked,  trembling— "  The  little  dog 
I  had  with  me ?" 

He  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  a  smile  on  the  face  in  the 
darkness. 

"  The  little  dog's  all  right, — don't  you  worry  about  him !  " 
said  the  woman — "  He  knows  how  to  take  care  of  himself 
and  you  too!  It  was  just  him  that  brought  me  along  here 
where  I  found  you.  Bless  the  little  soul!  He  made  noise 
enough  for  six  of  his  size !  " 

Helmsley  gave  a  faint  sigh  of  pleasure. 

"  Poor  little  Charlie !    Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  close  by !  He  was  almost  drowned  with  the 
rain,  like  a  poor  mouse  in  a  pail  of  water,  but  he  went  on 
barking  all  the  same !  I  dried  him  as  well  as  I  could  in  my 
apron,  and  then  wrapped  him  up  in  my  cloak, — he's  sitting 
right  in  it  just  now  watching  me." 

"  If — if  I  die, — please  take  care  of  him !  "  murmured 
Helmsley. 

"  Nonsense,  dearie !     I'm  not  going  to  let  you  die  out 

here  on  the  hills, — don't  think  it !  "  said  the  woman,  cheerily, 

— "  I  want  to  get  you  up,  and  take  you  home  with  me. 

The    storm's    well    overpast, — if    you    could    manage    to 

move " 

He  raised  himself  a  little,  and  tried  to  see  her  more 
Closer. 

"  Do  you  live  far  from  here?  "  he  asked. 

"  Only  just  on  the  upper  edge  of  the  '  coombe ' — not  in 
the  village," — she  answered — "  It's  quite  a  short  way,  but 
a  bit  steep  going.  If  you  lean  on  me,  I  won't  let  you  slip, 
— I'm  as  strong  as  a  man,  and  as  men  go  now-a-days, 
stronger  than  most !  " 

He  struggled  to  rise,  and  she  assisted  him.     By  dint  of 


184      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

sheer  mental  force  and  determination  he  got  himself  on 
his  feet,  but  his  limbs  shook  violently,  and  his  head  swam. 

"  I'm  afraid  " — he  faltered — "  I'm  afraid  I  am  very  ill. 
I  shall  only  be  a  trouble  to  you " 

"  Don't  talk  of  trouble  ?  Wait  till  I  fetch  the  doggie !  " 
And,  turning  from  him  a  moment,  she  ran  to  pick  up 
Charlie,  who,  as  she  had  said,  was  sungly  ensconced  in 
the  folds  of  her  cloak,  which  she  had  put  for  him  under  the 
shelter  of  a  projecting  boulder, — "  Could  you  carry  him, 
do  you  think  ?  " 

He  nodded  assent,  and  put  the  little  animal  under  his 
coat  as  before,  touched  almost  to  weak  tears  to  feel  it 
trying  to  lick  his  hand.  Meanwhile  his  unknown  and 
scarcely  visible  protectress  put  an  arm  round  him,  holding 
him  up  as  carefully  as  though  he  were  a  tottering  infant. 

"Don't  hurry — just  take  an  easy  step  at  a  time," — she 
said — "  The  moon  rises  a  bit  late,  and  we'll  have  to  see 
our  way  as  best  we  can  with  the  stars."  And  she  gave  a 
glance  upward.  "  That's  a  bright  one  just  over  the  coombe, 
— the  girls  about  here  call  it '  Light  o'  Love.'  " 

Moving  stiffly,  and  with  great  pain,  Helmsley  was  nev- 
ertheless impelled,  despite  his  suffering,  to  look,  as  she  was 
looking,  towards  the  heavens.  There  he  saw  the  same  star 
that  had  peered  at  him  through  the  window  of  his  study  at 
Carlton  House  Terrace, — the  same  that  had  sparkled  out 
in  the  sky  the  night  that  he  and  Matt  Peke  had  trudged 
the  road  together,  and  which  Matt  had  described  as  "  the 
love-star,  an'  it'll  be  nowt  else  in  these  parts  till  the  world- 
without-end-amen ! "  And  she  whose  eyes  were  upturned 
to  its  silvery  glory, — who  was  she?  His  sight  was  very 
dim,  and  in  the  deepening  shadows  he  could  only  discern 
a  figure  of  medium  womanly  height, — an  uncovered  head 
with  the  hair  loosely  knotted  in  a  thick  coil  at  the  nape  of 
the  neck, — and  the  outline  of  a  face  which  might  be  fair 
or  plain, — he  could  not  tell.  He  was  conscious  of  the  warm 
strength  of  the  arm  that  supported  him,  for  when  he  slipped 
once  or  twice,  he  was  caught  up  tenderly,  without  hurt  or 
haste,  and  held  even  more  securely  than  before.  Gradually, 
and  by  halting  degrees,  he  made  the  descent  of  the  hill, 
and,  as  his  guide  helped  him  carefully  over  a  few  loose 
stones  in  the  path,  he  saw  through  a  dark  clump  of  foliage 
the  glimmer  of  twinkling  lights,  and  heard  the  rush  of  water. 
He  paused,  vaguely  bewildered. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   185 

"  Nearly  home  now !  "  said  his  guide,  encouragingly ; 
"Just  a  few  steps  more  and  we'll  be  there.  My  cottage 
is  the  last  and  the  highest  in  the  coombe.  The  other 
houses  are  all  down  closer  to  the  sea." 

Still  he  stood  inert. 

"  The  sea!  "  he  echoed,  faintly—"  Where  is  it?  " 

With  her  disengaged  hand  she  pointed  outwards. 

"  Yonder !  By  and  by,  when  the  moon  comes  over  the 
hill,  it  will  be  shining  like  a  silver  field  with  big  daisies 
blowing  and  growing  all  over  it.  That's  the  way  it  often 
looks  after  a  storm.  The  tops  of  the  waves  are  just  like 
great  white  flowers." 

He  glanced  at  her  as  she  said  this,  and  caught  a  closer 
glimpse  of  her  face.  Some  faint  mystical  light  in  the  sky 
illumined  the  outlines  of  her  features,  and  showed  him  a 
calm  and  noble  profile,  such  as  may  be  found  in  early  Greek 
sculpture,  and  which  silently  expresses  the  lines : 

"  Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty, — that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know ! " 

He  moved  on  with  a  quicker  step,  touched  by  a  keen 
sense  of  expectation.  Ill  as  he  knew  himself  to  be,  he  was 
eager  to  reach  this  woman's  dwelling  and  to  see  her  more 
closely.  A  soft  laugh  of  pleasure  broke  from  her  lips  as 
he  tried  to  accelerate  his  pace. 

"  Oh,  we're  getting  quite  strong  and  bold  now,  aren't 
we !  "  she  exclaimed,  gaily — "  But  take  care  not  to  go  too 
fast !  There's  a  rough  bit  of  bog  and  boulder  coming." 

This  was  true.  They  had  arrived  at  the  upper  edge  of 
a  bank  overlooking  a  hill  stream  which  was  pouring  noisily 
down  in  a  flood  made  turgid  by  the  rain,  and  the  "  rough 
bit  of  bog  and  boulder  "  was  a  sort  of  natural  bridge  across 
the  torrent,  formed  by  heaps  of  earth  and  rock,  out  of 
which  masses  of  wet  fern  and  plumy  meadow-sweet  sprang 
in  tall  tufts  and  garlands,  which  though  beautiful  to  the 
eyes  in  day-time,  were  apt  to  entangle  the  feet  in  walking, 
especially  when  there  was  only  the  uncertain  glimmer  of 
the  stars  by  which  to  grope  one's  way.  Helmsley's  age 
and  over-wrought  condition  made  his  movements  nervous 
and  faltering  at  this  point,  and  nothing  could  exceed  the 
firm  care  and  delicate  solicitude  with  which  his  guide  helped 
him  over  this  last  difficulty  of  the  road.  She  was  indeed 


286      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

strong,  as  she  had  said, — she  seemed  capable  of  lifting  him 
bodily,  if  need  were — yet  she  was  not  a  woman  of  large 
or  robust  frame.  On  the  contrary,  she  appeared  slightly 
built,  and  carried  herself  with  that  careless  grace  which 
betokens  perfect  form.  Once  safely  across  the  bridge  and 
on  the  other  side  of  the  coombe,  she  pointed  to  a  tiny  lattice 
window  with  a  light  behind  it  which  gleamed  out  through 
the  surrounding  foliage  like  a  glow-worm  in  the  darkness. 

"  Here  we  are  at  home,"  she  said, — "  Just  along  this 
path — it's  quite  easy ! — now  under  this  tree — it's  a  big  chest- 
nut,— you'll  love  it! — now  here's  the  garden  gate — wait 
till  I  lift  the  latch — that's  right! — the  garden's  quite  small 
you  see, — it  goes  straight  up  to  the  cottage — and  here's  the 
door !  Come  in !  " 

As  in  a  dream,  Helmsley  was  dimly  conscious  of  the 
swishing  rustle  of  wet  leaves,  and  the  fragrance  of  mignon- 
ette and  roses  mingling  with  the  salty  scent  of  the  sea, — 
then  he  found  himself  in  a  small,  low,  oak-raftered  kitchen, 
with  a  wide  old-fashioned  hearth  and  ingle-nook,  warm  with 
the  glow  of  a  sparkling  fire.  A  quaintly  carved  comfort- 
ably cushioned  arm-chair  was  set  in  the  corner,  and  to 
this  his  guide  conducted  him,  and  gently  made  him  sit 
down. 

"  Now  give  me  the  doggie !  "  she  said,  taking  that  little 
personage  from  his  arms — "  He'll  be  glad  of  his  supper 
and  a  warm  bed,  poor  little  soul !  And  so  will  you !  " 

With  a  kindly  caress  she  set  Charlie  down  in  front  of 
the  hearth,  and  proceeded  to  shut  the  cottage  door,  which 
had  been  left  open  as  they  entered, — and  locking  it,  dropped 
an  iron  bar  across  it  for  the  night.  Then  she  threw  off  her 
cloak,  and  hung  it  up  on  a  nail  in  the  wall,  and  bending  over 
a  lamp  which  was  burning  low  on  the  table,  turned  up  its 
wick  a  little  higher.  Helmsley  watched  her  in  a  kind 
of  stupefied  wonderment.  As  the  lamplight  flashed  up  on 
her  features,  he  saw  that  she  was  not  a  girl,  but  a  woman 
who  seemed  to  have  thought  and  suffered.  Her  face  was 
pale,  and  the  lines  of  her  mouth  were  serious,  though  very 
sweet.  He  could  hardly  judge  whether  she  had  beauty  or 
not,  because  he  saw  her  at  a  disadvantage.  He  was  too  ill 
to  appreciate  details,  and  he  could  only  gaze  at  her  in  the 
dim  and  troubled  weariness  of  an  old  and  helpless  man, 
who  for  the  time  being  was  dependent  on  any  kindly  aid 
that  might  be  offered  to  him.  Once  or  twice  the  vague 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   187 

idea  crossed  his  mind  that  he  would  tell  her  who  he  was, 
and  assure  her  that  he  had  plenty  of  money  about  him 
to  reward  her  for  her  care  and  pains, — but  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  the  point  of  this  confession.  The  sur- 
prise and  sweetness  of  being  received  thus  unquestioningly 
under  the  shelter  of  her  roof  as  merely  the  poor  way-worn 
tramp  he  seemed  to  be,  were  too  great  for  him  to  relinquish. 
She,  meanwhile,  having  trimmed  the  lamp,  hurried  into  a 
neighboring  room,  and  came  in  again  with  a  bundle  of  wool- 
len garments,  and  a  thick  flannel  dressing  gown  on  her 
arm. 

"  This  was  my  father's,"  she  said,  as  she  brought  it  to 
him — "  It's  soft  and  cosy.  Get  off  your  wet  clothes  and 
slip  into  it,  while  I  go  and  make  your  bed  ready." 

She  spread  the  dressing  gown  before  the  fire  to  warm 
it,  and  was  about  to  turn  away  again,  when  Helmsley  laid 
a  detaining  hand  on  her  arm. 

"  Wait — wait !  "  he  said — "  Do  you  know  what  you  are 
doing?" 

She  laughed. 

"  Well,  now  that  is  a  question !    Do  I  seem  crazy?  " 

"  Almost  you  do — to  me !  "  And  stirred  into  a  sudden 
flicker  of  animation,  he  held  her  fast  as  he  spoke — "  Do  you 
live  alone  here?" 

"  Yes, — quite  alone." 

"Then  don't  you  see  how  foolish  you  are?  You  are 
taking  into  your  house  a  mere  tramp, — a  beggar  who  is 
more  likely  to  die  than  live !  Do  you  realise  how  dangerous 
this  is  for  you?  I  may  be  an  escaped  convict, — a  thief — 
even  a  murderer  !  You  cannot  tell !  " 

She  smiled  and  nodded  at  him  as  a  nurse  might  nod  and 
smile  at  a  fanciful  or  querulous  patient. 

"  I  can't  tell,  certainly,  and  don't  want  to  know !  "_  she 
replied — "  I  go  by  what  I  see." 

"  And  what  do  you  see  ?  " 

She  patted  his  thin  cold  hand  kindly. 

"  I  see  a  very  old  man — older  than  my  own  dear  father 
was  when  he  died — and  I  know  he  is  too  old  and  feeble 
to  be  out  at  night  in  the  wet  and  stormy  weather.  I  know 
that  he  is  ill  and  weak,  and  suffering  from  exhaustion,  and 
that  he  must  rest  and  be  well  nourished  for  a  few  days  till 
he  gets  strong  again.  And  I  am  going  to  take  care  of 
him," — here  she  gave  a  consoling  little  pressure  to  the 


188      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

hand  she  held.  "  I  am  indeed !  And  he  must  do  as  tye  is 
told,  and  take  off  his  wet  clothes  and  get  ready  for  bed ! " 

Something  in  Helmsley's  throat  tightened  like  the  con- 
traction of  a  rising  sob. 

"You  will  risk  all  this  trouble," — he  faltered — "  for  a 
stranger — who — who — cannot  repay  you — ? " 

"  Now,  now !  You  mustn't  hurt  me ! "  she  said,  with 
a  touch  of  reproach  in  her  soft  tones — "  I  don't  want  to  be 
repaid  in  any  way.  You  know  WHO  it  was  that  said  'I 
was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  me  in '  ?  Well,  He  would  wish 
me  to  take  care  of  you." 

She  spoke  quite  simply,  without  any  affectation  of  religious 
sentiment.  Helmsley  looked  at  her  steadily. 

"  Is  that  why  you  shelter  me  ?  " 

She  smiled  very  sweetly,  and  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
beautiful. 

"  That  is  one  reason,  certainly !  " — she  answered ;  "  But 
there  is  another, — quite  a  selfish  one !  I  loved  my  father, 
and  when  he  died,  I  lost  everything  I  cared  for  in  the 
world.  You  remind  me  of  him — just  a  little.  Now  will 
you  do  as  I  ask  you,  and  take  off  your  wet  things?" 

He  let  go  her  hand  gently. 

"  I  will," — he  said,  unsteadily — for  there  were  tears  in 
his  eyes — "  I  will  do  anything  you  wish.  Only  tell  me 
your  name !  " 

"  My  name  ?    My  name  is  Mary, — Mary  Deane." 

"  Mary  Deane !  "  he  repeated  softly — and  yet  again — 
"  Mary  Deane !  A  pretty  name !  Shall  I  tell  you  mine !  " 

"  Not  unless  you  like," — she  replied,  quickly — "  It  doesn't 
matter !  " 

"  Oh,  you'd  better  know  it !  "  he  said — "  I'm  only  old 
David — a  man  '  on  the  road '  tramping  it  to  Cornwall." 

"  That's  a  long  way ! "  she  murmured  compassionately, 
as  she  took  his  weather-beaten  hat  and  shook  the  wet  from 
it — "  And  why  do  you  want  to  tramp  so  far,  you  poor  old 
David?" 

"  I'm  looking  for  a  friend," — he  answered — "  And  maybe 
it's  no  use  trying, — but  I  should  like  to  find  that  friend 
before  I  die." 

"  And  so  you  will,  I'm  sure !  "  she  declared,  smiling  at 
him,  but  with  something  of  an  anxious  expression  in  her 
eyes,  for  Helmsley's  face  was  very  pinched  and  pallid,  and 
every  now  and  then  he  shivered  violently  as  with  an  ague 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   189 

fit — "  But  you  must  pick  up  your  strength  first.  Then  you'll 
get  on  better  and  quicker.  Now  I'm  going  to  leave  you 
while  you  change.  You'll  find  plenty  of  warm  things  with 
the  dressing  gown." 

She  went  out  as  before  into  the  next  room,  and  Helmsley 
managed,  though  with  considerable  difficulty,  to  divest  him- 
self of  his  drenched  clothes  and  get  on  the  comfortable 
woollen  garments  she  had  put  ready  for  him.  When  he 
took  off  his  coat  and  vest,  he  spread  them  in  front  of  the 
fire  to  dry  instead  of  the  dressing-gown  which  he  now  wore, 
and  as  soon  as  she  returned  he  specially  pointed  out  the  vest 
to  her. 

"  I  should  like  you  to  put  that  away  somewhere  in  your 
own  safe  keeping," — he  said.  "  It  has  a  few  letters  and 
— and  papers  in  it  which  I  value, — and  I  don't  want  any 
stranger  to  see  them.  Will  you  take  care  of  it  for  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will !  Nobody  shall  touch  it,  be  sure ! 
Not  a  soul  ever  comes  nigh  me  unless  I  ask  for  company ! 
— so  you  can  be  quite  easy  in  your  mind.  Now  I'm  going 
to  give  you  a  cup  of  hot  soup,  and  then  you'll  go  to  bed, 
won't  you? — and,  please  God,  you'll  be  better  in  the 


morning 


He  nodded  feebly,  and  forced  a  smile.  He  had  sunk 
back  in  the  arm-chair  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  warm- 
hearth,  where  the  tiny  dog,  Charlie,  whom  he  had  rescued, 
and  who  in  turn  had  rescued  him,  was  curled  up  and  snooz- 
ing peacefully.  Now  that  the  long  physical  and  nervous 
strain  of  his  journey  and  of  his  ghastly  experience  at  Blue 
Anchor  was  past,  he  felt  almost  too  weak  to  lift  a  hand, 
and  the  sudden  change  from  the  fierce  buffetings  of  the 
storm  to  the  homely  tranquillity  of  this  little  cottage  into 
which  he  had  been  welcomed  just  as  though  he  had  every 
right  to  be  there,  affected  him  with  a  strange  sensation 
which  he  could  not  analyse.  And  once  he  murmured  half 
unconsciously: 

"  Mary !    Mary  Deane !  " 

"  Yes, — that's  me !  "  she  responded  cheerfully,  coming  to 
his  side  at  once — "  I'm  here !  " 

He  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  are  here, — Mary !  "  he  said,  his  voice 
trembling  a  little  as  he  uttered  her  name — "  And  I  thank 
God  for  sending  you  to  me  in  time !  But  how — how  was  it 
that  you  found  me  ?  " 


.190     THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  I  was  watching  the  storm," — she  replied — "  I  love  wild 
weather! — I  love  to  hear  the  wind  among  the  trees  and 
the  pouring  of  the  rain !  I  was  standing  at  my  door  listen- 
ing to  the  waves  thudding  -  into  the  hollow  of  the  coombe, 
and  all  at  once  I  heard  the  sharp  barking  of  a  dog  on  the 
hill  just  above  here — and  sometimes  the  bark  changed  to 
a  pitiful  little  howl,  as  if  the  animal  were  in  pain.  So  I 
put  on  my  cloak  and  crossed  the  coombe  up  the  bank — 
it's  only  a  few  mintes'  scramble,  though  to  you  it  seemed 
ever  such  a  long  way  to-night, — and  there  I  saw  you  lying 
on  the  grass  with  the  little  doggie  running  round  and 
round  you,  and  making  all  the  noise  he  could  to  bring  help. 
Wise  little  beastie !  "  And  she  stooped  to  pat  the  tiny  object 
of  her  praise,  who  sighed  comfortably  and  stretched  his 
dainty  paws  out  a  little  more  luxuriously — "  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  him  you  might  have  died ! " 

He  said  nothing,  but  watched  her  in  a  kind  of  morbid 
fascination  as  she  went  to  the  fire  and  removed  a  saucepan 
which  she  had  set  there  some  minutes  previously.  Taking 
a  large  old-fashioned  Delft  bowl  from  a  cupboard  at  one 
side  of  the  fire-place,  she  filled  it  with  steaming  soup  which 
smelt  deliciously  savoury  and  appetising,  and  brought  it 
to  him  with  some  daintily  cut  morsels  of  bread.  He  was  too 
ill  to  feel  much  hunger,  but  to  please  her,  he  managed  to 
sip  it  by  slow  degrees,  talking  to  her  between-whiles. 

"  You  say  you  live  alone  here," — he  murmured — "  But 
are  you  always  alone  ?  " 

"  Always, — ever  since  father  died." 

"  How  long  is  that  ago  ?  " 

"  Five  years." 

"  You  are  not — you  have  not  been — married  ?  " 

She  laughed. 

"  No  indeed !    I'm  an  old  maid !  " 

"  Old  ?  "  And  he  raised  his  eyes  to  her  face.  "  You  are 
not  old ! " 

"  Well,  I'm  not  young,  as  young  people  go," — she  de- 
clared— "  I'm  thirty-four.  I  was  never  married  for  myself 
in  my  youth, — and  I  shall  certainly  never  be  married  for  my 
money  in  my  age !  "  Again  her  pretty  laugh  rang  softly 
on  the  silence.  "  But  I'm  quite  happy,  all  the  same! " 

He  still  looked  at  her  intently, — and  all  suddenly  it  dawned 
upon  him  that  she  was  a  beautiful  woman.  He  saw,  as 
for  the  first  time,  the  clear  transparency  of  her  skin,  the 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   igt 

soft  brilliancy  of  her  eyes,  and  the  wonderful  masses  of  her 
warm  bronze  brown  hair.  He  noted  the  perfect  poise  of  her 
figure,  clad  as  it  was  in  a  cheap  print  gown, — the  slimness 
of  her  waist,  the  fulness  of  her  bosom,  the  white  roundness 
of  her  throat.  Then  he  smiled. 

"  So  you  are  an  old  maid !  "  he  said — "  That's  very 
strange ! " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so ! "  and  she  shook  her  head  depre- 
catingly — "  Many  women  are  old  maids  by  choice  as  well 
as  by  necessity.  Marriage  isn't  always  bliss,  you  know  !  And 
unless  a  woman  loves  a  man  very  very  much — so  much 
that  she  can't  possibly  live  her  life  without  him,  she'd  better 
keep  single.  At  least  that's  my  opinion.  Now  Mr.  David, 
you  must  go  to  bed !  " 

He  rose  obediently — but  trembled  as  he  rose,  and  could 
scarcely  stand  from  sheer  weakness.  Mary  Deane  put  her 
arm  through  his  to  support  him. 

"  I'm  afraid," — he  faltered — "  I'm  afraid  I  shall  be  a  bur- 
den to  you!  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  well  enough  to  start 
again  on  my  way  to-morrow." 

"  You  won't  be  allowed  to  do  any  such  foolish  thing ! " 
she  answered,  with  quick  decision — "  So  you  can  just  make 
up  your  mind  on  that  score!  You  must  stay  here  as  my 
guest." 

"  Not  a  paying  one,  I  fear ! "  he  said,  with  a  pained  smile, 
and  a  quick  glance  at  her. 

She  gave  a  slight  gesture  of  gentle  reproach. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  you  on  paying  terms," — she  answered ; 
"  I  don't  take  in  lodgers." 

"  But— but— how  do  you  live  ?  " 

He  put  the  question  hesitatingly,  yet  with  keen  curiosity. 

"  How  do  I  live?  You  mean  how  do  I  work  for  a  living? 
I  am  a  lace  mender,  and  a  bit  of  a  laundress  too.  I  wash 
fine  muslin  gowns,  and  mend  and  clean  valuable  old  lace. 
It's  pretty  work  and  pleasant  enough  in  its  way." 

"  Does  it  pay  you  well  ?  " 

"  Oh,  quite  sufficiently  for  all  my  needs.  I  don't  cost 
much  to  keep !  "  And  she  laughed — "  I'm  all  by  myself, 
and  I  was  never  money-hungry !  Now  come  ! — you  mustn't 
talk  any  more.  You  know  who  I  am  and  what  I  am, — 
and  we'll  have  a  good  long  chat  to-morrow.  It's  bed-time !  " 

She  led  him,  as  though  he  were  a  child,  into  a  little  room, 
— one  of  the  quaintest  and  prettiest  he  had  ever  seen, — with 


19£      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

a  sloping  raftered  ceiling,  and  one  rather  wide  latticed 
window  set  in  a  deep  embrasure  and  curtained  with  spotless 
white  dimity.  Here  there  was  a  plain  old-fashioned  oak 
bedstead,  trimmed  with  the  same  white  hangings,  the  bed 
itself  being  covered  with  a  neat  quilt  of  diamond-patterned 
silk  patchwork.  Everything  was  delicately  clean,  and  fra- 
grant with  the  odour  of  dried  rose-leaves  and  lavender, — 
and  it  was  with  all  the  zealous  care  of  an  anxious  house- 
wife that  Mary  Deane  assured  her  "  guest "  that  the  sheets 
were  well-aired,  and  that  there  was  not  "  a  speck  of  damp  " 
anywhere.  A  kind  of  instinct  told  him  that  this  dainty 
little  sleeping  chamber,  so  fresh  and  pure,  with  not  even 
a  picture  on  its  white-washed  walls,  and  only  a  plain  wooden 
cross  hung  up  just  opposite  to  the  bed,  must  be  Mary's 
own  room,  and  he  looked  at  her  questioningly. 

"Where  do  you  sleep  yourself?"  he  asked. 

"  Upstairs," — she  answered,  at  once — "  Just  above  you. 
This  is  a  two-storied  cottage — quite  large  really!  I  have 
a  parlour  besides  the  kitchen, — oh,  the  parlour's  very  sweet ! 
— it  has  a  big  window  which  my  father  built  himself,  and 
it  looks  out  on  a  lovely  view  of  the  orchard  and  the  stream, 
— then  I  have  three  more  rooms,  and  a  wash-house  and 
cellar.  It's  almost  too  big  a  cottage  for  me,  but  father 
loved  it,  and  he  died  here, — that's  why  I  keep  all  his  things 
about  me  and  stay  on  in  it.  He  planted  all  the  roses  in 
the  orchard, — and  I  couldn't  leave  them !  " 

Helmsley  said  nothing  in  answer  to  this.  She  put  an 
arm-chair  for  him  near  the  bed. 

"  Now  as  soon  as  you're  in  bed,  just  call  to  me  and  I'll 
put  out  the  light  in  the  kitchen  and  go  to  bed  myself," 
— she  said — "  And  I'll  take  the  little  doggie  with  me,  and 
make  him  comfortable  for  the  night.  I'm  leaving  you  a 
candle  and  matches,  and  if  you  feel  badly  at  all,  there's 
a  hand-bell  close  by, — mind  you  ring  it,  and  I'll  come  to 
you  at  once  and  do  all  I  can  for  you." 

He  bent  his  eyes  searchingly  upon  her  in  his  old  sus- 
picious "  business  "  way,  his  fuzzy  grey  eyebrows  almost 
meeting  in  the  intensity  of  his  gaze. 

"  Tell  me — why  are  you  so  good  to  me?  "  he  asked. 

She  smiled. 

"  Don't  ask  nonsense  questions,  please,  Mr.  David ! 
Haven't  I  told  you  already  ? — not  why  I  am  '  good,'  because 
that's  rubbish — but  why  I  am  trying  to  take  care  of  you  ?  " 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   193 

"  Yes — because  I  am  old !  "  he  said,  with  a  sudden  pang 
of  self-contempt — "  and — useless !  " 

"  Good-night !  "  she  answered,  cheerfully — "  Call  to  me 
when  you  are  ready !  " 

She  was  gone  before  he  could  speak  another  word  and 
he  heard  her  talking  to  Charlie  in  petting  playful  terms  of 
endearment.  Judging  from  the  sounds  in  the  kitchen,  he 
concluded,  and  rightly,  that  she  was  getting  her  own  supper 
and  that  of  the  dog  at  the  same  time.  For  two  or  three 
minutes  he  sat  inert,  considering  his  strange  and  unique 
position.  What  would  this  present  adventure  lead  to  ?  Un- 
less his  new  friend,  Mary  Deane,  examined  the  vest  he 
had  asked  her  to  take  care  of  for  him,  she  would  not  dis- 
cover who  he  was  or  from  whence  he  came.  Would  she 
examine  it? — would  she  unrip  the  lining,  just  out  of  femi- 
nine curiosity,  and  sew  it  up  again,  pretending  that  she 
had  not  touched  it,  after  the  "  usual  way  of  women  "  ?  No ! 
He  was  sure, — absolutely  sure — of  her  integrity.  What? 
In  less  than  an  hour's  acquaintance  with  her,  would  he  swear 
to  her  honesty?  Yes,  he  would!  Never  could  such  eyes 
as  hers,  so  softly,  darkly  blue  and  steadfast,  mirror  a  false- 
hood, or  deflect  the  fragment  of  a  broken  promise!  And 
so,  for  the  time  being,  in  utter  fatigue  of  both  body  and 
mind,  he  put  away  all  thought,  all  care  for  the  future,  and 
resigned  himself  to  fhe  circumstances  by  which  he  was 
now  surrounded.  Undressing  as  quickly  as  he  could  in  his 
weak  and  trembling  condition,  he  got  into  the  bed  so  com- 
fortably prepared  for  him,  and  lay  down  in  utter  lassitude, 
thankful  for  rest.  After  he  had  lain  so  for  a  few  minutes 
he  called : 

"  Mary  Deane !  " 

She  came  at  once,  and  looked  in,  smiling. 

"  All  cosy  and  comfortable  ? "  she  queried — "  That's 
right ! "  Then  entering  the  room,  she  showed  him  the 
very  vest,  the  possible  fate  of  which  he  had  been  considering. 

"  This  is  quite  dry  now," — she  said — "I've  been  thinking 
that  perhaps  as  there  are  letters  and  papers  inside,  you'd 
like  to  have  it  near  you, — so  I'm  just  going  to  put  it  in 
here — see  ?  "  And  she  opened  a  small  cupboard  in  the  wall 
close  to  the  bed — "  There !  Now  I'll  lock  it  up  " — and  she 
suited  the  action  to  the  word — "  Where  shall  I  put  the  key  ?  " 

"  Please  keep  it  for  me  yourself !  "  he  answered,  earnestly, 
— "  It  will  be  safest  with  you !  " 


194      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  will," — she  agreed.  "  Anyhow  no  one 
can  get  at  your  letters  without  my  consent !  Now,  are  you 
quite  easy  ?  " 

And,  as  she  spoke,  she  came  and  smoothed  the  bed- 
clothes over  him,  and  patted  one  of  his  thin,  worn  hands 
which  lay,  almost  unconsciously  to  himself,  outside  the 
quilt. 

"  Quite  !  "  he  said,  faintly,  "  God  bless  you, !  " 

"  And  you  too !  "  she  responded — "  Good-night — David !  " 

"  Good-night—Mary !  " 

She  went  away  with  a  light  step,  softly  closing  the  door 
behind  her.  Returning  to  the  kitchen  she  took  up  the  little 
dog  Charlie  in  her  arms,  and  nestled  him  against  her  bosom, 
where  he  was  very  well  content  to  be,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  meditatively  into  the  fire. 

"  Poor  old  man !  "  she  murmured — "  I'm  so  glad  I  found 
him  before  it  was  too  late !  He  would  have  died  out  there 
on  the  hills,  I'm  sure !  He's  very  ill — and  so  worn  out  and 
feeble !  " 

Involuntarily  her  glance  wandered  to  a  framed  photo- 
graph which  stood  on  the  mantelshelf,  showing  the  likeness 
of  a  white-haired  man  standing  among  a  group  of  full- 
flowering  roses,  with  a  smile  upon  his  wrinkled  face, — a 
smile  expressing  the  quaintest  and  most  complete  satisfac- 
tion, as  though  he  sought  to  illustrate  the  fact  that  though 
he  was  old,  he  was  still  a  part  of  the  youthful  blossoming 
of  the  earth  in  summer-time. 

"  What  would  you  have  done,  father  dear,  if  you  had 
been  here  to-night  ?  " — she  queried,  addressing  the  portrait 
— "  Ah,  I  need  not  ask !  I  know !  You  would  have  brought 
your  suffering  brother  home,  to  share  all  you  had; — you 
would  have  said  to  him  '  Rest,  and  be  thankful ! '  For 
you  never  turned  the  needy  from  your  door,  my  dear  old 
dad ! — never ! — no  matter  how  much  you  were  in  need 
yourself !  " 

She  wafted  a  kiss  to  the  venerable  face  among  the  roses, 
— and  then  turning,  extinguished  the  lamp  on  the  table. 
The  dying  glow  of  the  fire  shone  upon  her  for  a  moment, 
setting  a  red  sparkle  in  her  hair,  and  a  silvery  one  on  the 
silky  head  of  the  little  dog  she  carried,  and  outlining  her 
fine  profile  so  that  it  gleamed  with  a  pure  soft  pallor  against 
the  surrounding  darkness, — and  with  one  final  look  round 
to  see  that  all  was  clear  for  the  night,  she  went  away  noise- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   195 

lessly  like  a  lovely  ghost  and  disappeared,  her  step  making 
no  sound  on  the  short  wooden  stairs  that  led  to  the  upper 
room  which  she  had  hastily  arranged  for  her  own  accommo- 
dation, in  place  of  the  one  now  occupied  by  the  homeless 
wayfarer  she  had  rescued. 

There  was  no  return  of  the  storm.  The  heavens,  with 
their  mighty  burden  of  stars,  remained  clear  and  tranquil, 
— the  raging  voice  of  ocean  was  gradually  sinking  into  a 
gentle  crooning  song  of  sweet  content, — and  within  the 
little  cottage  complete  silence  reigned,  unbroken  save  for 
the  dash  of  the  stream  outside,  rushing  down  through  the 
"  coombe  "  to  the  sea. 


CHAPTER     XIII 

THE  next  morning  Helmsley  was  too  ill  to  move  from  his 
bed,  or  to  be  conscious  of  his  surroundings.  And  there 
followed  a  long  period  which  to  him  was  well-nigh  a 
blank.  For  weeks  he  lay  helpless  in  the  grasp  of  a  fever 
which  over  and  over  again  threatened  to  cut  the  last  frail 
thread  of  his  life  asunder.  Pain  tortured  every  nerve  and 
sinew  in  his  body,  and  there  were  times  of  terrible  collapse, 
— when  he  was  conscious  of  nothing  save  an  intense  long- 
ing to  sink  into  the  grave  and  have  done  with  all  the  sharp 
and  cruel  torment  which  kept  him  on  the  rack  of  existence. 
In  a  semi-delirious  condition  he  tossed  and  moaned  the 
hours  away,  hardly  aware  of  his  own  identity.  In  certain 
brief  pauses  of  the  nights  and  days,  when  pain  was  mo- 
mentarily dulled  by  stupor,  he  saw,  or  fancied  he  saw  a 
woman  always  near  him,  with  anxiety  in  her  eyes  and  words 
of  soothing  consolation  on  her  lips; — and  then  he  found 
himself  muttering,  "  Mary !  Mary !  God  bless  you !  "  over 
and  over  again.  Once  or  twice  he  dimly  realised  that  a 
small  dark  man  came  to  his  bedside  and  felt  his  pulse  and 
looked  at  him  very  doubtfully,  and  that  she,  Mary,  called 
this  personage  "  doctor,"  and  asked  him  questions  in  a 
whisper.  But  all  within  his  own  being  was  pain  and  be- 
wilderment,— sometimes  he  felt  as  though  he  were  one 
drop  in  a  burning  whirlpool  of  madness — and  sometimes  he 
seemed  to  himself  to  be  spinning  round  and  round  in  a 
haze  of  blinding  rain,  of  which  the  drops  were  scalding 
hot,  and  heavy  as  lead, — and  occasionally  he  found  that  he 
was  trying  to  get  out  of  bed,  uttering  cries  of  inexplicable 
anguish,  while  at  such  moments,  something  cool  was  placed 
on  his  forehead,  and  a  gentle  arm  was  passed  round  him  till 
the  paroxysm  abated,  and  he  fell  down  again  among  his 
pillows  exhausted.  Slowly,  and  as  it  were  grudgingly,  after 
many  days,  the  crisis  of  the  illness  passed  and  ebbed  away 
in  dull  throbs  of  agony, — and  he  sank  into  a  weak  lethargy 
that  was  almost  like  the  comatose  condition  preceding  death. 
He  lay  staring  at  the  ceiling  for  hours,  heedless  as  to  whether 
he  ever  moved  or  spoke  again.  Some-one  came  and  put 

196 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   197 

spoonfuls  of  liquid  nourishment  between  his  lips,  and  he 
swallowed  it  mechanically  without  any  sign  of  conscious 
appreciation.  White  as  white  marble,  and  aged  by  many 
years,  he  remained  stretched  in  his  rigid  corpse-like  atti- 
tude, his  eyes  always  fixedly  upturned,  till  one  day  he  was 
roused  from  his  deepening  torpor  by  the  sound  of  sobbing. 
With  a  violent  effort  he  brought  his  gaze  down  from  the 
ceiling,  and  saw  a  figure  kneeling  by  his  bed,  and  a  mass  of* 
bronze  brown  hair  falling  over  a  face  concealed  by  two 
shapely  white  hands  through  which  the  tears  were  falling. 
Feebly  astonished,  he  stretched  out  his  thin,  trembling  fin- 
gers to  touch  that  wonderful  bright  mesh  of  waving  tresses, 
and  asked — 

"  What  is  this  ?    Who — who  is  crying  ?  " 

The  hidden  face  was  uplifted,  and  two  soft  eyes,  wet  with 
weeping,  looked  up  hopefully. 

"  It's  Mary ! "  said  a  trembling  voice — "  You  know  me, 
don't  you?  Oh,  dearie,  if  you  would  but  try  to  rouse 
yourself,  you'd  get  well  even  now ! " 

He  gazed  at  her  in  a  kind  of  childish  admiration. 

"  It's  Mary !  "  he  echoed,  faintly—"  And  who  is  Mary?" 

"  Don't  you  remember  ?  "  And  rising  from  her  knees, 
she  dashed  away  her  tears  and  smiled  at  him — "  Or  is  it 
too  hard  for  you  to  think  at  all  about  it  just  now?  Didn't 
I  find  you  out  on  the  hills  in  the  storm,  and  bring  you  home 
here? — and  didn't  I  tell  you  that  my  name  was  Mary?" 

He  kept  his  eyes  upon  her  wistful  face, — and  presently  a 
wan  smile  crossed  his  lips. 

"  Yes ! — so  you  did !  "  he  answered — "  I  know  you  now, 
Mary !  I've  been  ill,  haven't  I  ?  " 

She  nodded  at  him — the  tears  were  still  wet  on  her  lashes. 

"Very  ill!" 

"Ill  all  night,  I  suppose?" 

She  nodded  again. 

"  It's  morning  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  morning !  " 

"  I  shall  get  up  presently," — he  said,  in  his  old  gentle 
courteous  way — "  I  am  sorry  to  have  given  you  so  much 
trouble!  I  must  not  burden  your  hospitality — your  kind- 
ness  " 

His  voice  trailed  away  into  silence, — his  eyelids  drooped 
— and  fell  into  a  sound  slumber, — the  first  refreshing  sleep 
he  had  enjoyed  for  many  weary  nights  and  days. 


198      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Mary  Deane  stood  looking  at  him  thoughtfully.  The 
turn  had  come  for  the  better,  and  she  silently  thanked  God. 
Night  after  night,  day  after  day,  she  had  nursed  him  with 
unwearying  patience  and  devotion,  having  no  other  help 
or  guidance  save  her  own  womanly  instinct,  and  the  occa- 
sional advice  of  the  village  doctor,  who,  however,  was  not 
a  qualified  medical  man,  but  merely  a  herbalist  who  prepared 
his  own  simples.  This  humble  Gamaliel  diagnosed  Helm- 
sley's  case  as  one  of  rheumatic  fever,  complicated  by  heart 
trouble,  as  well  as  by  the  natural  weakness  of  decaying 
vitality.  Mary  had  explained  to  him  Helmsley's  presence 
in  her  cottage  by  a  pious  falsehood,  which  Heaven  surely 
forgave  her  as  soon  as  it  was  uttered.  She  had  said  that 
he  was  a  friend  of  her  late  father's,  who  had  sought  her 
out  in  the  hope  that  she  might  help  him  to  find  some  light 
employment  in  his  old  age,  and  that  not  knowing  the  country 
at  all,  he  had  lost  his  way  across  the  hills  during  the  blind- 
ing fury  of  the  storm.  This  story  quickly  ran  through  the 
little  village,  of  which  Mary's  house  was  the  last,  at  the 
summit  of  the  "  icoombe,"  and  many  of  its  inhabitants  came 
to  inquire  after  "  Mr.  David,"  while  he  lay  tossing  and 
moaning  between  life  and  death,  most  of  them  seriously  com- 
miserating Mary  herself  for  the  "  sight  o'  trouble "  she 
had  been  put  to, — "  all  for  a  trampin'  stranger  like !  " 

"  Though," — observed  one  rustic  sage — "  Bein'  a  lone 
woman  as  y'  are,  Mis'  Deane,  m'appen  if  he  knew  yer 
father  'twould  be  pleasant  to  talk  to  him  when  'is  'ed. comes 
clear,  if  clear  it  iver  do  come.  For  when  we've  put  our 
owd  folk  under  the  daisies,  it  do  cheer  the  'art  a  bit  to  talk 
of  'em  to  those  as  knew  'em  when  they  was  a  standin' 
upright,  bold  an'  strong,  for  all  they  lays  so  low  till  last 
trumpet." 

Mary  smiled  a  grave  assent,  and  with  wise  tact  and  care- 
ful forethought  for  the  comfort  and  well-being  of  her  un- 
known guest,  quietly  accepted  the  position  she  had  brought 
upon  herself  as  having  given  shelter  and  lodging  to  her 
"  father's  friend,"  thus  smoothing  all  difficulties  away  for 
him,  whether  he  recovered  from  his  illness  or  not.  Had 
he  died,  she  would  have  borne  the  expenses  of  his  burial 
without  a  word  of  other  explanation  than  that  which  she 
had  offered  by  way  of  appeasing  the  always  greedy  curi- 
osity of  any  community  of  human  beings  who  are  gath- 
ered in  one  small  town  or  village, — and  if  he  recovered, 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   199 

she  was  prepared  to  treat  him  in  very  truth  as  her  "  father's 
friend." 

"  For," — she  argued  with  herself,  quite  simply — "  I  am 
sure  father  would  have  been  kind  to  him,  and  when  once 
he  was  kind,  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  his  friend." 

And,  little  by  little,  Helmsley  struggled  back  to  life, — 
life  that  was  very  weak  and  frail  indeed,  but  still,  life  that 
contained  the  whole  essence  and  elixir  of  being, — a  new  and 
growing  interest.  Little  by  little  his  brain  cleared  and 
recovered  its  poise, — once  more  he  found  himself  thinking 
of  things  that  had  been  done,  and  of  things  that  were  yet 
worth  doing.  Watching  Mary  Deane  as  she  went  softly 
to  and  fro  in  constant  attendance  on  his  needs,  he  was 
divided  in  his  mind  between  admiration,  gratitude,  and — a 
lurking  suspicion,  of  which  he  was  ashamed.  As  a  business 
man,  he  had  been  taught  to  look  for  interested  motives 
lying  at  the  back  of  every  action,  bad  or  good, — and  as 
his  health  improved,  and  calm  reason  again  asserted  its 
sway,  he  found  it  difficult  and  well-nigh  impossible  to  realise 
or  to  believe  that  this  woman,  to  whom  he  was  a  perfect 
stranger,  no  more  than  a  vagrant  on  the  road,  could  have 
given  him  so  much  of  her  time,  attention,  and  care,  unless 
she  had  dimly  supposed  him  to  be  something  other  than 
he  had  represented  himself.  Unable  yet  to  leave  his  bed, 
he  lay,  to  all  appearances,  quietly  contented,  acknowledging 
her  gentle  ministrations  with  equally  gentle  words  of  thanks, 
while  all  the  time  he  was  mentally  tormenting  himself  with 
doubts  and  fears.  He  knew  that  during  his  illness  he  had 
been  delirious, — surely  in  that  delirium  he  might  have  raved 
and  talked  of  many  things  that  would  have  yielded  the 
entire  secret  of  his  identity.  This  thought  made  him  rest- 
less,— and  one  afternoon  when  Mary  came  in  with  the 
deliciously  prepared  cup  of  tea  which  she  always  gave  him 
about  four  o'clock,  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  with  a  sud- 
den keen  look  which  rather  startled  her  by  its  piercing 
brightness  suggesting,  as  it  did,  some  return  of  fever. 

"Tell  me," — he  said — "Have  I  been  ill  long?  More 
than  a  week  ?  " 

She  smiled. 

"  A  little  more  than  a  week," — she  answered,  gently — 
"  Don't  worry !  " 

"I'm  not  worrying.     Please  tell  me  what  day  it  is!" 

"  What  day  it  is?    Well,  to-day  is  Sunday." 


200      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Sunday !    Yes — but  what  is  the  date  of  the  month  ?  '* 

She  laughed  softly,  patting  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  never  mind !    What  does  it  matter  ?  " 

"  It  does  matter," — he  protested,  with  a  touch  of  petu- 
lance— "  I  know  it  is  July,  but  what  time  of  July  ?  " 

She  laughed  again. 

"  It's  not  July,"  she  said. 

"Not  July!" 

"  No.     Nor  August !  " 

He  raised  himself  on  his  pillow  and  stared  at  her  in 
questioning  amazement. 

"Not  July?    Not  August?    Then ?" 

She  took  his  hand  between  her  own  kind  warm  palms, 
stroking  it  soothingly  up  and  down. 

"  It's  not  July,  and  it's  not  August ! "  she  repeated,  nod- 
ding at  him  as  though  he  were  a  worried  and  fractious  child 
— "  It's  the  second  week  in  September.  There  !  " 

His  eyes  turned  from  right  to  left  in  utter  bewilderment. 

"  But  how "  he  murmured 

Then  he  suddenly  caught  her  hands  in  the  one  she  was 
holding. 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  I  have  been  ill  all  those  weeks — 
a  burden  upon  you  ?  " 

"  You've  been  ill  all  those  weeks — yes ! "  she  answered 
"  But  you  haven't  been  a  burden.  Don't  you  think  it ! 
You've — you've  been  a  pleasure !  "  And  her  blue  eyes 
filled  with  soft  tears,  which  she  quickly  mastered  and  sent 
back  to  the  tender  source  from  which  they  sprang ;  "  You 
have,  really !  " 

He  let  go  her  hand  and  sank  back  on  his  pillows  with 
a  smothered  groan. 

"  A  pleasure !  "  he  muttered — "  I !  "  And  his  fuzzy  eye- 
brows met  in  almost  a  frown  as  he  again  looked  at  her 
with  one  of  the  keen  glances  which  those  who  knew  him 
in  business  had  learned  to  dread.  "  Mary  Deane,  do  not 
tell  me  what  is  not  and  what  cannot  be  true !  A  sick  man 
— an  old  man — can  be  no  '  pleasure '  to  anyone ; — he  is 
nothing  but  a  bore  and  a  trouble,  and  the  sooner  he  dies 
the  better !  " 

The  smiling  softness  still  lingered  in  her  eyes. 

"  Ah  well !  " — she  said — "  You  talk  like  that  because 
you're  not  strong  yet,  and  you  just  feel  a  bit  cross  and 
worried !  You'll  be  better  in  another  few  days " 


"  Another  few  days !  "  he  interrupted  her — "  No — no — 
that  cannot  be — I  must  be  up  and  tramping  it  again — I  must 
not  stay  on  here — I  have  already  stayed  too  long." 

A  slight  shadow  crossed  her  face,  but  she  was  silent.  He 
watched  her  narrowly. 

"  I've  been  off  my  head,  haven't  I  ?  "  he  queried,  affect- 
ing a  certain  brusqueness  in  his  tone — "  Talking  a  lot  of 
nonsense,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes — sometimes," — she  replied — "  But  only  when  you 
were  very  bad." 

"And  what  did  I  say?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  he  grew  impatient. 

"  Come,  come !  "  he  demanded,  irritably — "  What  did  I 
say?" 

She  looked  at  him  candidly. 

"  You  talked  mostly  about  '  Tom  o'  the  Gleam,' " — she 
answered — "  That  was  a  poor  gypsy  well  known  in  these 
parts.  He  had  just  one  little  child  left  to  him  in  the  world 
— its  mother  was  dead.  Some  rich  lord  driving  a  motor 
car  down  by  Cleeve  ran  over  the  poor  baby  and  killed  it — 
and  Tom " 

"  Tom  tracked  the  car  to  Blue  Anchor,  where  he  found 
the  man  who  had  run  over  his  child  and  killed  him!"  said 
Helmsley,  with  grim  satisfaction — "  I  saw  it  done !  " 

Mary  shuddered. 

"  I  saw  it  done !  "  repeated  Helmsley — "  And  I  think  it 
was  rightly  done!  But — I  saw  Tom  himself  die  of  grief 
and  madness — with  his  dead  child  in  his  arms — and  that! 
— that  broke  something  in  my  heart  and  brain  and  made 
me  think  God  was  cruel !  " 

She  bent  over  him,  and  arranged  his  pillows  more  com- 
fortably. 

"  I  knew  Tom," — she  said,  presently,  in  a  soft  voice — 
"  He  was  a  wild  creature,  but  very  kind  and  good  for  all 
that.  Some  folks  said  he  had  been  born  a  gentleman,  and 
that  a  quarrel  with  his  family  had  made  him  take  to  the 
gypsy  life — but  that's  only  a  story.  Anyway  his  little  child 
-'  kiddie ' — as  it  used  to  be  called,  was  the  dearest  little 
fellow  in  the  world — so  playful  and  affectionate ! — I  don't 
wonder  Tom  went  mad  when  his  one  joy  was  killed !  And 
you  saw  it  all,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  it  all !  "  And  Helmsley,  with  a  faint  sigh 
half  closed  his  eyes  as  he  spoke — "  I  was  tramping  from 


202      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Watchett, — and  the  motor  passed  me  on  my  way,  but  I  did 
not  see  the  child  run  over.  I  meant  to  get  a  lodging  at 
Blue  Anchor — and  while  I  was  having  my  supper  at  the 
public  house  Tom  came  in, — and — and  it  was  all  over  in 
less  than  fifteen  minutes!  A  horrible  sight — a  horrible, 
horrible  sight !  I  see  it  now ! — I  shall  never  forget  it !  " 

"  Enough  to  make  you  ill,  poor  dear !  "  said  Mary,  gently 
— "  Don't  think  of  it  now !  Try  and  sleep  a  little.  You 
mustn't  talk  too  much.  Poor  Tom  is  dead  and  buried  now, 
and  his  little  child  with  him — God  rest  them  both!  It's 
better  he  should  have  died  than  lived  without  anyone  to 
love  him  in  the  world." 

"  That's  true !  "  And  opening  his  eyes  widely  again, 
he  gazed  full  at  her — "  That's  the  worst  fate  of  all — to  live 
in  the  world  without  anyone  to  love  you !  Tell  me — when  I 
was  delirious  did  I  only  talk  of  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  ?  " 

"  That's  the  only  person  whose  name  you  seemed  to  have 
on  your  mind," — she  answered,  smiling  a  little — "  But  you 
did  make  a  great  noise  about  money ! " 

"  Money  ?  "  he  echoed — "  I — I  made  a  noise  about 
money  ?  " 

"  Yes !  "  And  her  smile  deepened — "  Often  at  night  you 
quite  startled  me  by  shouting  '  Money !  Money ! '  I'm  sure 
you've  wanted  it  very  badly !  " 

He  moved  restlessly  and  avoided  her  gaze.  Presently 
he  asked  querulously: 

"  Where  is  my  old  vest  with  all  my  papers  ?  " 

"  It's  just  where  I  put  it  the  night  you  came," — she 
answered — "  I  haven't  touched  it.  Don't  you  remember  you 
told  me  to  keep  the  key  of  the  cupboard  which  is  right  here 
close  to  your  bed?  I've  got  it  quite  safe." 

He  turned  his  head  round  on  the  pillow  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  sudden  smile. 

"  Thank  you !  You  are  very  kind  to  me,  Mary !  But  you 
must  let  me  work  off  all  I  owe  you  as  soon  as  I'm  well." 

She  put  one  finger  meditatively  on  her  lips  and  surveyed 
him  with  a  whimsically  indulgent  air. 

"  Let  you  work  it  off  ?  Well,  I  don't  mind  that  at  all ! 
But  a  minute  ago  you  were  saying  you  must  get  up  and  go 
on  the  tramp  again.  Now,  if  you  want  to  work  for  me,  you 
must  stay " 

"  I  will  stay  till  I  have  paid  you  my  debt  somehow ! "  he 
said — "  I'm  old — but  I  can  do  a  few  useful  things  yet." 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   203 

"  I'm  sure  you  can !  "  And  she  nodded  cheerfully — "  And 
you  shall !  Now  rest  a  while,  and  don't  fret !  " 

She  went  away  from  him  then  to  fetch  the  little  dog, 
Charlie,  who,  now  that  his  master  was  on  the  fair  road  to 
complete  recovery,  was  always  brought  in  to  amuse  him 
after  tea.  Charlie  was  full  of  exuberant  life,  and  his  gam- 
bols over  the  bed  where  Helmsley  lay,  his  comic  interest 
in  the  feathery  end  of  his  own  tail,  and  his  general  intense 
delight  in  the  fact  of  his  own  existence,  made  him  a  merry 
and  affectionate  little  playmate.  He  had  taken  immensely 
to  his  new  home,  and  had  attached  himself  to  Mary  Deane 
with  singular  devotion,  trotting  after  her  everywhere  as 
close  to  her  heels  as  possible.  The  fame  of  his  beauty  had 
gone  through  the  village,  and  many  a  small  boy  and  girl 
came  timidly  to  the  cottage  door  to  try  and  "  have  a  peep  " 
at  the  smallest  dog  ever  seen  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  cer- 
tainly the  prettiest. 

"  That  little  dawg  be  wurth  twenty  pun !  " — said  one  of 
the  rustics  to  Mary,  on  one  occasion  when  she  was  sitting 
in  her  little  garden,  carefully  brushing  and  combing  the 
silky  coat  of  the  little  "  toy  " — "  Th'owd  man  thee's  been 
a'  nussin'  ought  to  give  'im  to  thee  as  a  thank-offerin'." 

"  I  wouldn't  take  him," — Mary  answered — "  He's  perhaps 
the  only  friend  the  poor  old  fellow  has  got  in  the  world. 
It  would  be  just  selfish  of  me  to  want  him." 

And  so  the  time  went  on  till  it  was  past  mid-September, 
and  there  came  a  day,  mild,  warm,  and  full  of  the  soft 
subdued  light  of  deepening  autumn,  when  Mary  told  her 
patient  that  he  might  get  up,  and  sit  in  an  arm-chair  for  a 
few  hours  in  the  kitchen.  She  gave  him  this  news  when 
she  brought  him  his  breakfast,  and  added — 

"  I'll  wrap  you  up  in  father's  dressing  gown,  and  you'll 
be  quite  cosy  and  safe  from  chill.  And  after  another  week 
you'll  be  so  strong  that  you'll  be  able  to  dress  yourself  and 
do  without  me  altogether  !  " 

This  phrase  struck  curiously  on  his  ears.  "  Do  with- 
out her  altogether !  "  That  would  be  strange  indeed — al- 
most impossible !  It  was  quite  early  in  the  morning  when 
she  thus  spoke — about  seven  o'clock, — and  he  was  not  to 
get  up  till  noon,"  when  the  air  was  at  its  warmest, "said  Mary 
— so  he  lay  very  quietly,  thinking  over  every  detail  of  the 
position  in  which  he  found  himself.  He  was  now  perfectly 
aware  that  it  was  a  position  which  opened  up  great  possi- 


204      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

bilities.  Bis  dream, — the  vague  indefinable  longing  which 
possessed  him  for  love — pure,  disinterested,  unselfish  love, 
— seemed  on  the  verge  of  coming  true.  Yet  he  would  not 
allow  himself  to  hope  too  much, — he  preferred  to  look  on 
the  darker  side  of  probable  disillusion.  Meanwhile,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  sweetness  and  comfort  in  his  life  such  as  he 
had  never  yet  experienced.  His  thoughts  dwelt  with  secret 
pleasure  on  the  open  frankness  and  calm  beauty  of  the  face 
that  had  bent  over  him  with  the  watchfulness  of  a  guardian 
angel  through  so  many  days  and  nights  of  pain,  delirium, 
and  dread  of  death, — and  he  noted  with  critically  observant 
•eyes  the  noiseless  graceful  movement  of  this  humbly-born 
"woman,  whose  instincts  were  so  delicate  and  tender,  whose 
voice  was  so  gentle,  and  whose  whole  bearing  expressed  such 
unaffected  dignity  and  purity  of  mind.  On  this  particular 
morning  she  was  busy  ironing; — and  she  had  left  the  door 
open  between  his  bedroom  and  the  kitchen,  so  that  he  might 
benefit  by  the  inflow  of  fresh  air  from  the  garden,  the  cot- 
tage door  itself  being  likewise  thrown  back  to  allow  a  full 
entrance  of  the  invigorating  influences  of  the  light  breeze 
from  the  sea  and  the  odours  of  the  flowers.  From  his  bed 
he  could  see  her  slim  back  bent  over  the  fine  muslin  frills 
she  was  pressing  out  with  such  patient  precision,  and  he 
caught  the  glint  of  the  sun  on  the  rich  twist  of  her  bronze 
brown  hair.  Presently  he  heard  some  one  talking  to  her, 
— a  woman  evidently,  whose  voice  was  pitched  in  a  plaintive 
and  almost  querulous  key. 

"  Well,  Mis'  Deane,  say  'ow  ye  will  an'  what  ye  will, — 
there's  a  spider  this  very  blessed  instant  a'  crawlin'  on  the 
bottom  of  the  ironin'  blanket,  which  is  a  sure  sign  as  'ow 
yer  washin'  won't  come  to  no  good  try  iver  so  'ard,  for  as 
we  all  knows — '  See  a  spider  at  morn,  An'  ye'll  wish  ye 
wornt  born :  See  a  spider  at  night,  An'  yer  wrongs'll  come 
right!"1 

Mary  laughed;  and  Helmsley  listened  with  a  smile  on 
his  own  lips.  She  had  such  a  pretty  laugh, — so  low  and 
soft  and  musical. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  the  poor  spider,  Mrs.  Twitt !  " — she 
said — "  Let  it  climb  up  the  ironing  blanket  if  it  likes !  I 
see  dozens  of  spiders  '  at  morn/  and  I've  never  in  my  life 
wished  I  wasn't  born!  Why,  if  you  go  out  in  the  garden 
early,  you're  bound  to  see  spiders !  " 

"That's  true — that's   Testymen  true!"     And   the   indi- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   205 

vidual  addressed  as  Mrs.  Twitt,  heaved  a  profound  sigh 
which  was  loud  enough  to  flutter  through  the  open  door  to 
Helmsley's  ears — "  Which,  as  I  sez  to  Twitt  often,  shows 
as  'ow  we  shouldn't  iver  tempt  Providence.  Spiders  there 
is,  an'  spiders  there  will  be  'angin'  on  boughs  an'  'edges, 
frequent  too  in  September,  but  we  aint  called  upon  to  look 
at  'em,  only  when  the  devil  puts  'em  out  speshul  to  catch 
the  hi,  an'  then  they  means  mischief.  An'  that'  just  what 
'as  'appened  this  present  minit,  Mis'  Deane, — that  spider 
on  yer  ironin'  blanket  'as  caught  my  hi." 

"  I'm  so  sorry !  "  said  Mary,  sweetly — "  But  as  long  as 
the  spider  doesn't  bring  you  any  ill-luck,  Mrs.  Twitt,  I 
don't  mind  for  myself — I  don't,  really !  " 

Mrs.  Twitt  emitted  an  odd  sound,  much  like  the  grunt 
of  a  small  and  discontented  pig. 

"  It's  a  reckless  foot  as  don't  mind  precipeges," — she  re- 
marked, solemnly — "  'Owsomever,  I've  given  ye  fair  warn- 
in'.  An'  'ow's  yer  father's  friend  ?  " 

"  He's  much  better, — quite  out  of  danger  now," — replied 
Mary—  •"  He's  going  to  get  up  to-day." 

"  David's  'is  name,  so  I  'ears," — continued  Mrs.  Twitt ; 
"  I've  never  myself  knowed  anyone  called  David,  but  it's 
a  common  name  in  some  parts,  speshul  in  Scripter.  Is  'e 
older  than  yer  father  would  'a  bin  if  so  be  the  Lord  'ad 
carried  'im  upright  to  this  present  ?  " 

"  He  seems  a  little  older  than  father  was  when  he  died," 
— answered  Mary,  in  slow,  thoughtful  accents — "  But  per- 
haps it  is  only  trouble  and  illness  that  makes  him  look  so. 
He's  very  gentle  and  kind.  Indeed," — here  she  paused  for 
a  second — then  went  on — "  I  don't  know  whether  it's  be- 
cause I've  been  nursing  him  so  long  and  have  got  accus- 
tomed to  watch  him  and  take  care  of  him — but  I've  reallj 
grown  quite  fond  of  him !  " 

Mrs.  Twitt  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  That's  nat'ral,  seein'  as  ye're  lone  in  life  without  'usband 
or  childer," — she  said — "  There's  a  many  wimmin  as  'ud 
grow  fond  of  an  Aunt  Sally  on  a  pea-stick  if  they'd  nothin' 
else  to  set  their  'arts  on.  An'  as  the  old  chap  was  yer 
father's  friend,  there's  bin  a  bit  o'  feelin'  like  in  lookin' 
arter  'im.  But  I  wouldn't  take  'im  on  my  back  as  a  burgin, 
Mis'  Deane,  if  I  were  you.  Ye're  far  better  off  by  yerself 
with  the  washin'  an'  lace-mendin'  business." 

Mary  was  silent. 


206      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  It's  all  very  well," — proceeded  Mrs.  Twitt — "  for  'im 
to  say  'e  knew  yer  father,  but  arter  all  that  mayn't  be  true. 
The  Lord  knows  whether  'e  aint  a  'scaped  convick,  or  a 
man  as  is  grown  'oary-'edded  with  'is  own  wickedness.  An' 
though  'e's  feeble  now  an'  wants  all  ye  can  give  'im,  the 
day  may  come  when,  bein'  strong  again,  Vll  take  a  knife 
an'  slit  yer  throat.  Bein'  a  tramp  like,  it  'ud  come  easy  to 
'im  an'  not  to  be  blamed,  if  we  may  go  by  what  they  sez 
in  the  'a'penny  noospapers.  I  mind  me  well  on  the  night 
o'  the  storm,  the  very  night  ye  went  out  on  the  'ills  an'  found 
'im,  I  was  settin'  at  my  door  down  shorewards  watchin' 
the  waves  an'  hearin'  the  wind  cryin'  like  a  babe  for  its 
mother,  an'  if  ye'll  believe  me,  there  was  a  sea-gull  as 
came  and  flopped  down  on  a  stone  just  in  front  o'  me! 
— a  thing  no  sea-gull  ever  did  to  me  all  the  time  I've  lived 
'ere,  which  is  thirty  years  since  I  married  Twitt.  There  it 
sat,  drenched  wi'  the  rain,  an'  Twitt  came  out  in  that  slow, 
silly  way  'e  'as,  an'  'e  sez — '  Poor  bird !  'Ungry,  are  ye  ? 
an'  throws  it  a  reg'lar  full  meal,  which,  if  you  believe  me, 
it  ate  all  up  as  cool  as  a  cowcumber.  An'  then " 

"  And  then  ?  "  queried  Mary,  with  a  mirthful  quiver  in 
her  voice. 

"  Then, — oh,  well,  then  it  flew  away," — and  Mrs.  Twitt 
seemed  rather  sorry  for  this  common-place  end  to  what 
she  imagined  was  a  thrilling  incident — "  But  the  way  that 
bird  looked  at  me  was  somethin'  awful !  An'  when  I  'eerd 
as  'ow  you'd  found  a  friend  o'  yer  father's  a'  trampin'  an' 
wanderin'  an'  'ad  took  'im  in  to  board  an'  lodge  on  trust, 
I  sez  to  Twitt — '  There  you've  got  the  meanin'  o'  that  sea- 
gull! A  stranger  in  the  village  bringin'  no  good  to  the 
'and  as  feeds  'im ! ' ' 

Mary's  laughter  rang  out  now  like  a  little  peal  of  bells. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Twitt !  "  she  said — "  I  know  how  good  and 
kind  you  are — but  you  mustn't  have  any  of  your  presenti- 
ments about  me !  I'm  sure  the  poor  sea-gull  meant  no 
harm !  And  I'm  sure  that  poor  old  David  won't  ever  hurt 

me "   Here  she  suddenly  gave  an  exclamation — "  Why, 

I  forgot !     The  door  of  his  room  has  been  open  all  this 
time !    He  must  have  heard  us  talking !  " 

She  made  a  hurried  movement,  and  Helmsley  diplomatic- 
ally closed  his  eyes.  She  entered,  and  came  softly  up  to 
his  bedside,  and  he  felt  that  she  stood  there  looking  at  him 
intently.  He  could  hardly  forbear  a  smile ; — but  he  man- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   207 

aged  to  keep  up  a  very  creditable  appearance  of  being  fast 
asleep,  and  she  stole  away  again,  drawing  the  door  to  be- 
hind her.  Thus,  for  the  time  being,  he  heard  no  more, — 
but  he  had  gathered  quite  enough  to  know  exactly  how 
matters  stood  with  regard  to  his  presence  in  her  little 
home. 

"  She  has  given  out  that  I  am  an  old  friend  of  her 
father's !  "  he  mused — "  And  she  has  done  that  in  order  to 
silence  both  inquiry  and  advice  as  to  the  propriety  of  her 
having  taken  me  under  her  shelter  and  protection.  Kind 
heart!  Gentle  soul!  And — what  else  did  she  say?  That 
she  had  '  really  grown  quite  fond  '  of  me !  Can  I — dare  I 
— believe  that  ?  No ! — it  is  a  mere  feminine  phrase — spoken 
out  of  compassionate  impulse.  Fond  of  me !  In  my  ap- 
parent condition  of  utter  poverty, — old,  ill  and  useless,  who 
could  or  would  be  '  fond  '  of  me !  " 

Yet  he  dwelt  on  the  words  with  a  kind  of  hope  that  nerved 
and  invigorated  him,  and  when  at  noon  Mary  came  and 
assisted  him  to  get  up  out  of  bed,  he  showed  greater  evi- 
dence of  strength  than  she  had  imagined  would  be  possible. 
True,  his  limbs  ached  sorely,  and  he  was  very  feeble,  for 
even  with  the  aid  of  a  stick  and  the  careful  support  of  her 
strong  arm,  his  movements  were  tottering  and  uncertain, 
and  the  few  steps  between  his  bedroom  and  the  kitchen 
seemed  nearly  a  mile  of  exhausting  distance.  But  the  ef- 
fort to  walk  did  him  good,  and  when  he  sank  into  the 
arm-chair  which  had  been  placed  ready  for  him  near  the 
fire,  he  looked  up  with  a  smile  and  patted  the  gentle  hand 
that  had  guided  him  along  so  surely  and  firmly. 

"  I'm  an  old  bag  of  bones !  "  he  said — "  Not  much  good 
to  myself  or  to  any  one  else !  You'd  better  bundle  me  out 
on  the  doorstep !  " 

For  an  answer  she  brought  him  a  little  cup  of  nourish- 
ing broth  tastily  prepared  and  bade  him  drink  it — "  every 
drop,  mind !  " — she  told  him  with  a  little  commanding  nod. 
He  obeyed  her, — and  when  he  gave  her  back  the  cup  empty 
he  said,  with  a  keen  glance : 

"  So  I  am  your  father's  friend,  am  I,  Mary?  " 

The  blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks  in  a  crimson  tide, — she 
looked  at  him  appealingly,  and  her  lips  trembled  a  little. 

"  You  were  so  very  ill !  "  she  murmured — "  I  was  afraid 
you  might  die, — and  I  had  to  send  for  the  only  doctor  we 
have  in  the  village — Mr.  Bunce, — the  boys  call  him  Mr. 


208      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Dunce,  but  that's  their  mischief,  for  he's  really  quite  clever, 
— and  I  was  bound  to  tell  him  something  by  way  of  intro- 
ducing you  and  making  him  take  care  of  you — even — even 
if  what  I  said  wasn't  quite  true !  And — and — I  made  it 
out  to  myself  this  way — that  if  father  had  lived  he  would 
have  done  just  all  he  could  for  you,  and  then  you  would 
have  been  his  friend — you  couldn't  have  helped  yourself !  " 

He  kept  his  eyes  upon  her  as  she  spoke.  He  liked  to  see 
the  soft  flitting  of  the  colour  to-and-fro  in  her  face, — her 
skin  was  so  clear  and  transparent, — a  physical  reflection, 
he  thought,  of  the  clear  transparency  of  her  mind. 

"And  who  was  your  father,  Mary?"  he  asked,  gently. 

"  He  was  a  gardener  and  florist," — she  answered,  and 
taking  from  the  mantelshelf  the  photograph  of  the  old  man 
smiling  serenely  amid  a  collection  of  dwarf  and  standard 
roses,  she  showed  it  to  him — "  Here  he  is,  just  as  he  was 
taken  after  an  exhibition  where  he  won  a  prize.  He  was 
so  proud  when  he  heard  that  the  first  prize  •  for  a  dwarf 
red  rose  had  been  awarded  to  James  Deane  of  Barnstaple. 
My  dear  old  dad !  He  was  a  good,  good  man — he  was  in- 
deed! He  loved  the  flowers — he  used  to  say  that  they 
thought  and  dreamed  and  hoped,  just  as  we  do — and  that 
they  had  their  wishes  and  loves  and  ambitions  just  as  we 
have.  He  had  a  very  good  business  once  in  Barnstaple,  and 
every  one  respected  him,  but  somehow  he  could  not  keep 
up  with  the  demands  for  new  things — '  social  sensations  in 
the  way  of  flowers,'  he  used  to  call  them,  and  he  failed  at 
last,  through  no  fault  of  his  own.  We  sold  all  we  had  to 
pay  the  creditors,  and  then  we  came  away  from  Barnstaple 
into  Somerset,  and  took  this  cottage.  Father  did  a  little 
business  in  the  village,  and  for  some  of  the  big  houses  round 
about, — not  much,  of  course — but  I  was  always  handy  with 
my  needle,  and  by  degrees  I  got  a  number  of  customers  for 
lace-mending  and  getting  up  ladies'  fine  lawn  and  muslin 
gowns.  So  between  us  we  made  quite  enough  to  live  on 
— till  he  died."  Her  voice  sank — and  she  paused — then  she 
added — "  I've  lived  alone  here  ever  since." 

He  listened  attentively. 

"  And  that  is  all  your  history,  Mary  ?  What  of  your 
mother?"  he  asked. 

Mary's  eyes  softened  and  grew  wistful. 

"  Mother  died  when  I  was  ten," — she  said — "  But  though 
I  was  so  little,  I  remember  her  well.  She  was  pretty — oh, 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   209 

so  very  pretty !  Her  hair  was  quite  gold  like  the  sun, — and 
her  eyes  were  blue — like  the  sea.  Dad  worshipped  her, 
and  he  never  would  say  that  she  was  dead.  He  liked  to 
think  that  she  was  always  with  him, — and  I  daresay  she 
was.  Indeed,  I  am  sure  she  was,  if  true  love  can  keep  souls 
together." 

He  was  silent. 

"  Are  you  tired,  David  ?  "  she  asked,  with  sudden  anxiety, 
— "  I'm  afraid  I'm  talking  too  much !  " 

He  raised  a  hand  in  protest. 

u  No — no !  I — I  love  to  hear  you  talk,  Mary !  You  have 
been  so  good  to  me — so  more  than  kind — that  I'd  like  to 
know  all  about  you.  But  I've  no  right  to  ask  you  any  ques- 
tions— you  see  I'm  only  an  old,  poor  man,  and  I'm  afraid 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  do  much  in  the  way  of  paying  you 
back  for  all  you've  done  for  me.  I  used  to  be  clever  at 
office  work — reading  and  writing  and  casting  up  accounts, 
but  my  sight  is  failing  and  my  hands  tremble, — so  I'm 
no  good  in  that  line.  But  whatever  I  can  do  for  you,  as 
soon  as  I'm  able,  I  will ! — you  may  depend  upon  that !  " 

She  leaned  towards  him,  smiling. 

"  I'll  teach  you  basket-making," — she  said—"  Shall  I  ?  " 

His  eyes  lit  up  with  a  humorous  sparkle. 

"  If  I  could  learn  it,  should  I  be  useful  to  you  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Why,  of  course  you  would !  Ever  so  useful !  Useful 
to  me  and  useful  to  yourself  at  the  same  time !  "  And  she 
clapped  her  hands  with  pleasure  at  having  thought  of  some- 
thing easy  upon  which  he  could  try  his  energies ;  "  Basket- 
making  pays  well  here, — the  farmers  want  baskets  for  their 
fruit,  and  the  fishermen  want  baskets  for  their  fish, — and  its 
really  quite  easy  work.  As  soon  as  you're  a  bit  stronger, 
you  shall  begin — and  you'll  be  able  to  earn  quite  a  nice 
little  penny !  " 

He  looked  stedfastly  into  her  radiant  face. 

"  I'd  like  to  earn  enough  to  pay  you  back  all  the  expense 
you've  been  put  to  with  me," — he  said,  and  his  voice  trem- 
bled— "  But  your  patience  and  goodness — that — I  can  never 
hope  to  pay  for — that's  heavenly  ! — that's  beyond  all  money's 
worth " 

He  broke  off  and  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes.  Mary 
feigned  not  to  notice  his  profound  emotion,  and,  taking 
up  a  paper  parcel  on  the  table,  opened  it,  and  unrolled  a 


210      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

long  piece  of  wonderful  old  lace,  yellow  with  age,  and  fine 
as  a  cobweb. 

"  Do  you  mind  my  going  on  with  my  work  ?  "  she  asked, 
[cheerily — "  I'm  mending  this  for  a  Queen !  "  And  as  he 
took  away  his  hand  from  his  eyes,  which  were  suspiciously 
moist,  and  looked  at  her  wonderingly,  she  nodded  at  him 
in  the  most  emphatic  way.  "  Yes,  truly,  David ! — for  a 
Queen !  Oh,  it's  not  a  Queen  who  is  my  direct  employer — 
no  Queen  ever  knows  anything  about  me !  It's  a  great  firm 
in  London  that  sends  this  to  me  to  mend  for  a  Queen — they 
trust  me  with  it,  because  they  know  me.  I've  had  lace 
worth  thousands  of  pounds  in  my  hands, — this  piece  is 
valued  at  eight  hundred,  apart  from  its  history — it  belonged 
to  Marie  Louise,  second  wife  of  Napoleon  the  First.  It's 
a  lovely  bit ! — but  there  are  some  cruel  holes  in  it.  Ah,  dear 
me*!  "  And,  sitting  down  near  the  door,  she  bent  her  head 
closely  over  the  costly  fabric — "  Queens  don't  think  of  the 
eyes  that  have  gone  out  in  blindness  doing  this  beautiful 
work! — or  the  hands  that  have  tired  and  the  hearts  that 
have  broken  over  it !  They  would  never  run  pins  into  it 
if  they  did !  " 

He  watched  her  sitting  as  she  now  was  in  the  sunlight 
that  flooded  the  doorway,  and  tried  to  overcome  the  emo- 
tional weakness  that  moved  him  to  stretch  out  his  arms  to 
her  as  though  she  were  his  daughter,  to  call  her  to  his  side, 
and  lay  his  hands  on  her  head  in  blessing,  and  to  beg  her  to 
let  him  stay  with  her  now  and  always  until  the  end  of  his 
days, — an  end  which  he  instinctively  felt  could  not  be  very 
long  in  coming.  But  he  realised  enough  of  her  character 
to  know  that  were  he  to  give  himself  away,  and  declare  his 
real  identity  and  position  in  the  world  of  men,  she  would 
probably  not  allow  him  to  remain  in  her  cottage  for  another 
twenty-four  hours.  She  would  look  at  him  with  her  candid 
eyes,  and  express  her  honest  regret  that  he  had  deceived 
her,  but  he  was  certain  that  she  would  not  accept  a  penny 
of  payment  at  his  hands  for  anything  she  had  done  for 
him, — her  simple  familiar  manner  and  way  of  speech  would 
change — and  he  should  lose  her — lose  her  altogether.  And 
he  was  nervously  afraid  just  now  to  think  of  what  her  loss 
might  mean  to  him.  He  mastered  his  thoughts  by  an  effort, 
and  presently,  forcing  a  smile,  said : 

"  You  were  ironing  lace  this  morning,  instead  of  mend- 
ing it,  weren't  you,  Mary  ?  " 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   211 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"  No,  I  wasn't  ironing  lace — lace  must  never  be  ironed, 
David !  It  must  all  be  pulled  out  carefully  with  the  fingers, 
and  the  pattern  must  be  pricked  out  on  a  frame  or  a  cushion, 
with  fine  steel  pins,  just  as  if  it  were  in  the  making.  I 
was  ironing  a  beautiful  muslin  gown  for  a  lady  who  buys 
all  her  washing  dresses  in  Paris.  She  couldn't  get  any  one 
in  England  to  wash  them  properly  till  she  found  me.  She 
used  to  send  them  all  away  to  a  woman  in  Brittany  before. 
The  French  are  wonderful  washers, — we're  not  a  patch  on 
them  over  here.  So  you  saw  me  ironing?" 

"  I  could  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  you  at  work  through 
the  door,"  he  answered — "  and  I  heard  you  talking  as 
well " 

"To  Mrs.  Twitt?  Ah,  I  thought  you  did!"  And  she 
laughed.  "  Well,  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  her,  as  well 
as  heard  her!  She  is  the  quaintest  old  soul!  She's  the 
wife  of  a  stonemason  who  lives  at  the  bottom  of  the  village, 
near  the  shore.  Almost  everything  that  happens  in  the 
day  or  the  night  is  a  sign  of  good  or  bad  luck  with  her. 
I  expect  it's  because  her  husband  makes  so  many  tomb- 
stones that  she  gets  morbid, — but,  oh  dear! — if  God  man- 
aged the  world  according  to  Mrs.  Twitt's  notions,  what 
a  funny  world  it  would  be  !  " 

She  laughed  again, — then  shook  her  finger  archly  at  him. 

"  You  pretended  to  be  asleep,  then,  when  I  came  in  to 
see  if  you  heard  us  talking?" 

He  nodded  a  smiling  assent. 

"  That  was  very  wrong  of  you !  You  should  never  pre- 
tend to  be  what  you  are  not ! "  He  started  nervously  at 
this,  and  to  cover  his  confusion  called  to  the  little  dog, 
Charlie,  who  at  once  jumped  up  on  his  knees ; — "  You 
shouldn't,  really!  Should  he,  Charlie?"  Charlie  sat  up- 
right, and  lolled  a  small  red  tongue  out  between  two  rows 
of  tiny  white  teeth,  by  way  of  a  laugh  at  the  suggestion — 
"  People — even  dogs — are  always  found  out  when  they  do 
that !  " 

"  What  are  those  bright  flowers  out  in  your  garden  just 
beyond  the  door  where  you  are  sitting?"  Helmsley  asked, 
to  change  the  conversation. 

"  Phloxes," — she  answered — "  I've  got  all  kinds  and  col- 
ours— crimson,  white,  mauve,  pink,  and  magenta.  Those 
which  you  can  see  from  where  you  sit  are  the  crimson  ones 


212      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

— father's  favourites.  I  wish  you  could  get  out  and  look 
at  the  Virginian  creeper — it's  lovely  just  now — quite  a  blaze 
of  scarlet  all  over  the  cottage.  And  the  Michaelmas  daisies 
are  coming  on  finely." 

"  Michaelmas !  "  he  echoed — "  How  late  in  the  year  it 
is  growing !  " 

"  Ay,  that's  true !  "  she  replied — "  Michaelmas  means  that 
summer's  past." 

"  And  it  was  full  summer  when  I  started  on  my  tramp 
to  Cornwall !  "  he  murmured. 

"  Never  mind  thinking  about  that  just  now,"  she  said 
quickly — "  You  mustn't  worry  your  head.  Mr.  Bunce  says 
you  mustn't  on  any  account  worry  your  head." 

"  Mr.  Bunce !  "  he  repeated  wearily — "  What  does  Mr. 
Bunce  care  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Bunce  does  care,"  averred  Mary,  warmly — "  Mr. 
Bunce  is  a  very  good  little  man,  and  he  says  you  are  a 
very  gentle  patient  to  deal  with.  He's  done  all  he  possibly 
could  for  you,  and  he  knows  you've  got  no  money  to  pay 
him,  and  that  I'm  a  poor  woman,  too — but  he's  been  in  to 
see  you  nearly  every  day — so  you  must  really  think  well 
of  Mr.  Bunce." 

"  I  do  think  well  of  him — I  am  most  grateful  to  him," 
said  David  humbly — "  But  all  the  same  it's  you,  Mary ! 
You  even  got  me  the  attention  of  Mr.  Bunce ! " 

She  smiled  happily. 

"  You're  feeling  better,  David !  "  she  declared — "  There's 
a  nice  bright  sparkle  in  your  eyes!  I  should  think  you 
were  quite  a  cheerful  old  boy  when  you're  well !  " 

This  suggestion  amused  him,  and  he  laughed. 

"  I  have  tried  to  be  cheerful  in  my  time," — he  said — 
"  though  I've  not  had  much  to  be  cheerful  about." 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter !  "  she  replied ! — "  Dad  used 
to  say  that  whatever  little  we  had  to  be  thankful  for,  we 
ought  to  make  the  most  of  it.  It's  easy  to  be  glad  when 
everything  is  gladness, — but  when  you've  only  got  just  a 
tiny  bit  of  joy  in  a  whole  wilderness  of  trouble,  then  we 
can't  be  too  grateful  for  that  tiny  bit  of  joy.  At  least,  so  I 
take  it." 

"  Where  did  you  learn  your  philosophy,  Mary  ?  "  he  asked, 
half  whimsically — "  I  mean,  who  taught  you  to  think  ?  " 

She  paused  in  her  lace-mending,  needle  in  hand. 

"Who  taught  me  to  think!     Well,   I   don't  know! — it 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   213 

come  natural  to  me.  But  I'm  not  what  is  called  '  educated  ' 
at  all." 

"Are  you  not?" 

"  No.  I  never  learnt  very  much  at  school.  •  I  got  the 
lessons  into  my  head  as  long  as  I  had  to  patter  them  off 
by  heart  like  a  parrot, — but  the  teachers  were  all  so  dull 
and  prosy,  and  never  took  any  real  pains  to  explain  things 
to  me, — indeed,  now  when  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't 
believe  they  could  explain ! — they  needed  teaching  them- 
selves. Anyhow,  as  soon  as  I  came  away  I  forgot  every- 
thing but  reading  and  writing  and  sums — and  began  to 
learn  all  over  again  with  Dad.  Dad  made  me  read  to  him 
every  night — all  sorts  of  books." 

"  Had  you  a  Free  Library  at  Barnstaple  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — I  never  asked," — she  said — "  Father 
hated  '  lent '  books.  He  had  a  savings-box — he  used  to 
call  it  his  '  book-box ' — and  he  would  always  drop  in  every 
spare  penny  he  had  for  books  till  he'd  got  a  few  shillings, 
and  then  he  would  buy  what  he  called  '  classics.'  They're 
all  so  cheap,  you  see.  And  by  degrees  we  got  Shakespeare 
and  Carlyle,  and  Emerson  and  Scott  and  Dickens,  and  nearly 
all  the  poets ;  when  you  go  into  the  parlour  you'll  see  quite 
a  nice  bookcase  there,  full  of  books.  It's  much  better  to 
have  them  like  that  for  one's  own,  than  wait  turns  at  a 
Free  Library.  I've  read  all  Shakespeare  at  least  twenty 
times  over."  The  garden-gate  suddenly  clicked  open  and 
she  turned  her  head.  "  Here's  Mr.  Bunce  come  to  see 
you." 

Helmsley  drew  himself  up  a  little  in  his  chair  as  the  vil- 
lage doctor  entered,  and  after  exchanging  a  brief  "  Good- 
morning  ! "  with  Mary,  approached  him.  The  situation 
was  curious  ; — here  was  he, — a  multi-millionaire,  who  could 
have  paid  the  greatest  specialists  in  the  world  for  their 
medical  skill  and  attendance, — under  the  supervision  and 
scrutiny  of  this  simple  herbalist,  who,  standing  opposite 
to  him,  bent  a  pair  of  kindly  brown  eyes  enquiringly  upon 
his  face. 

"  Up  to-day,  are  we  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bunce — "  That  is  well ; 
that's  very  well!  Better  in  ourselves,  too,  are  we?  Better 
in  ourselves?" 

"  I  am  much  better," — replied  Helmsley — "  Very  much 
better! — thanks  to  you  and  Miss  Deane.  You — you  have 
both  been  very  good  to  me." 


214      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  That's  well — that's  very  well !  "  And  Mr.  Bunce  ap- 
peared to  ruminate,  while  Helmsley  studied  his  face  and 
figure  with  greater  appreciation  than  he  had  yet  been  able 
to  do.  He  had  often  seen  this  small  dark  man  in  the  pauses 
of  his  feverish  delirium, — often  he  had  tried  to  answer  his 
gentle  questions, — often  in  the  dim  light  of  early  morning 
or  late  evening  he  had  sought  to  discern  his  features,  and 
yet  could  make  nothing  clear  as  to  their  actual  form,  save 
that  their  expression  was  kind.  Now,  as  it  seemed  for  the 
first  time,  he  saw  Mr.  Bunce  as  he  was, — small  and  wiry, 
with  a  thin,  clean-shaven  face,  deeply  furrowed,  broad 
brows,  and  a  pleasant  look, — the  eyes  especially,  deep  sunk 
in  the  head  though  they  were,  had  a  steady  tenderness  in 
them  such  as  one  sees  in  .the  eyes  of  a  brave  St.  Bernard 
dog  who  has  saved  many  lives. 

"  We  must," — said  Mr.  Bunce,  after  a  long  pause — "  be 
careful.  We  have  got  out  of  bed,  but  we  must  not  walk 
much.  The  heart  is  weak — we  must  avoid  any  strain  upon 
it.  We  must  sit  quiet." 

Mary  was  listening  attentively,  and  nodded  her  agree- 
ment to  this  pronouncement. 

"  We  must," — proceeded  Mr.  Bunce,  laboriously — "  sit 
quiet.  We  may  get  up  every  day  now, — a  little  earlier  each 
time,  remaining  up  a  little  later  each  time, — but  we  must 
sit  quiet." 

Again  Mary  nodded  gravely.  Helmsley  looked  quickly 
from  one  to  the  other.  A  close  observer  might  have  seen 
the  glimmer  of  a  smile  through  his  fuzzy  grey-white  beard, 
— for  his  thoughts  were  very  busy.  He  saw  in  Bunce  an- 
other subject  whose  disinterested  honesty  might  be  worth 
dissecting. 

"  But,  doctor "  he  began. 

Mr.  Bunce  raised  a  hand. 

"  I'm  not  '  doctor,'  my  man !  "  he  said — "  have  no  degree 
— no  qualification — no  diploma — no  anything  whatever  but 
just  a  little,  a  very  little  common  sense, — yes!  And  I  am 
simply  Bunce," — and  here  a  smile  spread  out  all  the  furrows 
in  his  face  and  lit  up  his  eyes ;  "  Or,  as  the  small  boys  call 
me,  Dunce !  " 

"  That's  all  very  well,  but  you're  a  doctor  to  me,"  said 
Helmsley — "  And  you've  been  as  much  as  any  other  doctor 
could  possibly  be,  I'm  sure.  But  you  tell  me  I  must  sit 
quiet — I  don't  see  how  I  can  do  that.  I  was  on  the  tramp 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   215 

till  I  broke  down, — and  I  must  go  on  the  tramp  again, — I 
can't  be  a  burden  on — on " 

He  broke  off,  unable  to  find  words  to  express  himself. 
But  his  inward  eagerness  to  test  the  character  and  attributes 
of  the  two  human  beings  who  had  for  the  present  constituted 
themselves  as  his  guardians,  made  him  tremble  violently. 
And  Mr.  Bunce  looked  at  him  with  the  scrutinising  air 
of  a  connoisseur  in  the  ailments  of  all  and  sundry. 

"  We  are  nervous," — he  pronounced — "  We  are  highly 
nervous.  And  we  are  therefore  not  sure  of  ourselves.  We 
must  be  entirely  sure  of  ourselves,  unless  we  again  wish  to 
lose  ourselves.  Now  we  presume  that  when  '  on  the  tramp  ' 
as  we  put  it,  we  were  looking  for  a  friend.  Is  that  not  so  ?  " 

Helmsley  nodded. 

"  We  were  trying  to  find  the  house  of  the  late  Mr.  James 
Deane?" 

Mary  uttered  a  little  sound  that  was  half  a  sob  and  half 
a  sigh.  Helmsley  glanced  at  her  with  a  reassuring  smile, 
and  then  replied  steadily, — 

"That  was  so!" 

"  Our  friend,  Mr.  Deane,  unfortunately  died  some  five 
years  since," — proceeded  Mr.  Bunce, — "  And  we  found  his 
daughter,  or  rather,  his  daughter  found  us,  instead.  This 
we  may  put  down  to  an  act  of  Providence.  Now  the  only 
thing  we  can  do  under  the  present  circumstances  is  to  re- 
main with  our  late  old  friend's  daughter,  till  we  get  well." 

"  But,  doctor," — exclaimed  Helmsley,  determined,  if  pos- 
sible, to  shake  something  selfish,  commercial  and  common- 
place out  of  this  odd  little  man  with  the  faithful  canine 
eyes — "  I  can't  be  a  burden  on  her !  I've  got  no  money — 
I  can't  pay  you  for  all  your  care!  What  you  do  for  me, 
you  do  for  absolutely  nothing — nothing — nothing!  Don't 
you  understand  ?  " 

His  voice  rang  out  with  an  almost  rasping  harshness, 
and  Mr.  Bunce  tapped  his  own  forehead  gently,  but  signifi- 
cantly. 

"  We  worry  ourselves," — he  observed,  placidly — "  We 
imagine  what  does  not  exist.  We  think  that  Bunce  is 
sending  in  his  bill.  We  should  wait  till  the  bill  comes, 
should  we  not,  Miss  Deane  ?  "  He  smiled,  and  Mary  gave 
a  soft  laugh  of  agreement — "  And  while  we  wait  for  Bunce's 
bill,  we  will  also  wait  for  Miss  Deane's.  And,  in  the  mean- 
time, we  must  sit  quiet." 


216      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Helmsley  felt  a  smart- 
ing moisture  at  the  back  of  his  eyes.  He  longed  to  pour 
out  all  his  history  to  these  two  simple  unworldly  souls, — 
to  tell  them  that  he  was  rich, — rich  beyond  the  furthest 
dreams  of  their  imagining, — rich  enough  to  weigh  down 
the  light-hearted  contentment  of  their  lives  with  a  burden  of 
gold, — and  yet — yet  he  knew  that  if  he  spoke  thus  and  con- 
fessed himself,  all  the  sweetness  of  the  friendship  which 
was  now  so  disinterested  would  be  embittered  and  lost.  He 
thought,  with  a  latent  self-contempt  and  remorse,  of  certain 
moods  in  which  he  had  sometimes  indulged, — moods  in 
which  he  had  cynically  presumed  that  he  could  buy  every- 
thing in  the  world  for  money.  Kings,  thrones,  govern- 
ments, might  be  had  for  money,  he  knew,  for  he  had  often 
purchased  their  good-will — but  Love  was  a  jewel  he  had 
never  found  in  any  market — unpurchasable  as  God!  And 
while  he  yet  inwardly  mused  on  his  position,  Bunce  bent  over 
him,  and  taking  his  thin  wrinkled  hand,  patted  it  gently. 

"  Good-bye  for  the  present,  David !  "  he  said,  kindly — 
"  We  are  on  the  mend — we  are  certainly  on  the  mend ! 
We  hope  the  ways  of  nature  will  be  remedial — and  that 
we  shall  pick  up  our  strength  before  the  winter  fairly  sets 
in — yes,  we  hope — we  certainly  may  hope  for  that " 

"  Mr.  Bunce,"  said  Helmsley,  with  sudden  energy — "  God 
bless  you ! " 


'CHAPTER     XIV 

THE  time  now  went  on  peacefully,  one  day  very  much  like 
another,  and  Helmsley  steadily  improved  in  health  and 
strength,  so  far  recovering  some  of  his  old  vigour  and 
alertness  as  to  be  able  to  take  a  slow  and  halting  daily  walk 
through  the  village,  which,  for  present  purposes  shall  be 
called  Weircombe.  The  more  he  saw  of  the  place,  the 
more  he  loved  it,  and  the  more  he  was  enchanted  with  its 
picturesque  position.  In  itself  it  was  a  mere  cluster  of  little 
houses,  dotted  about  on  either  side  of  a  great  cleft  in  the 
rocks  through  which  a  clear  mountain  stream  tumbled  to 
the  sea, — but  the  houses  were  covered  from  basement  to 
roof  with  clambering  plants  and  flowers,  especially  the  wild 
fuschia,  which,  with  one  or  two  later  kinds  of  clematis  and 
"  morning  glory  "  convolvolus,  were  still  in  brilliant  bloom 
when  the  mellow  days  of  October  began  to  close  in  to  the 
month's  end.  All  the  cottages  in  the  "  coombe  "  were  pretty, 
but  to  Helmsley 's  mind  Mary  Deane's  was  the  prettiest, 
perched  as  it  was  on  a  height  overlooking  the  whole  village 
and  near  to  the  tiny  church,  which  crowned  the  hill  with  a 
little  tower  rising  heavenward.  The  view  of  the  ocean 
from  Weircombe  was  very  wide  and  grand, — on  sunny  days 
it  was  like  an  endless  plain  of  quivering  turquoise-blue,  with 
white  foam-roses  climbing  up  here  and  there  to  fall  and 
vanish  again, — and  when  the  wind  was  high,  it  was  like 
an  onward  sweeping  array  of  Titanic  shapes  clothed  in  silver 
armour  and  crested  with  snowy  plumes,  all  rushing  in  a 
wild  charge  against  the  shore,  with  such  a  clatter  and  roar 
as  often  echoed  for  miles  inland.  To  make  his  way  gradu- 
ally down  through  the  one  little  roughly  cobbled  street  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  sea,  was  one  of  Helmsley's  greatest 
pleasures,  and  he  soon  got  to  know  most  of  the  Weircombe 
folk,  while  they  in  their  turn,  grew  accustomed  to  seeing 
him  about  among  them,  and  treated  him  with  a  kindly  fa- 
miliarity, almost  as  if  he  were  one  of  themselves.  And 
his  new  lease  of  life  was,  to  himself,  singularly  happy.  He 
enjoyed  every  moment'  of  it, — every  little  incident  was  a 
novel  experience,  and  he  was  never  tired  of  studying  the 
different  characters  he  met, — especially  and  above  all  the 

217  * 


218      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

character  of  the  woman  whose  house  was,  for  the  time 
being,  his  home,  and  who  treated  with  him  all  the  care  and 
solicitude  that  a  daughter  might  show  to  her  father.  And 
— he  was  learning  what  might  be  called  a  trade  or  a  craft, 
— which  fact  interested  and  amused  him.  He  who  had 
moved  the  great  wheel  of  many  trades  at  a  mere  touch  of 
his  finger,  was  now  docilely  studying  the  art  of  basket- 
making,  and  training  his  unaccustomed  hands  to  the  bend- 
ing of  withes  and  osiers, — he  whose  deftly-laid  financial 
schemes  had  held  the  money-markets  of  the  world  in  sus- 
pense, was  now  patiently  mastering  the  technical  business 
of  forming  a  "  slath,"  and  fathoming  the  mysteries  of 
"  scalluming."  Like  an  obedient  child  at  school  he  implic- 
itly followed  the  instructions  of  his  teacher,  Mary,  who  with 
the  first  basket  he  completed  went  out  and  effected  a  sale 
as  she  said  "  for  fourpence,"  though  really  for  twopence. 

"  And  good  pay,  too !  "  she  said,  cheerfully — "  It's  not 
often  one  gets  so  much  for  a  first  make." 

"  That  fourpence  is  yours,"  said  Helmsley,  smiling  at 
her — "  You've  the  right  to  all  my  earnings !  " 

She  looked  serious. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  keep  it  ?  "  she  asked — "  I  mean, 
would  it  please  you  if  I  did, — would  you  feel  more  content?  " 

"  I  should — you  know  I  should !  "  he  replied  earnestly. 

"  All  right,  then !  I'll  check  it  off  your  account !  "  And 
laughing  merrily,  she  patted  his  head  as  he  sat  bending 
over  another  specimen  of  his  basket  manufacture — "  At 
any  rate,  you're  not  getting  bald  over  your  work,  David! 
I  never  saw  such  beautiful  white  hair  as  yours !  " 

He  glanced  up  at  her. 

"  May  I  say,  in  answer  to  that,  that  I  never  saw  such 
beautiful  brown  hair  as  yours  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  may  say  it,  because  I  know  it's  true.  My 
hair  is  my  one  beauty, — see !  " 

And  pulling  out  two  small  curved  combs,  she  let  the 
whole  wealth  of  her  tresses  unwind  and  fall.  Her  hair 
dropped  below  her  knees  in  a  glorious  mass  of  colour  like 
that  of  a  brown  autumn  leaf  with  the  sun  just  glistening  on 
it.  She  caught  it  up  in  one  hand  and  knotted  it  all  again 
at  the  back  of  her  head  in  a  minute. 

"  It's  lovely,  isn't  it  ?  " — she  said,  quite  simply — "  I  should 
think  it  lovely  if  I  saw  it  on  anybody  else's  head,  or  cut 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   219 

off  hanging  in  a  hair-dresser's  shop  window.  I  don't  ad- 
mire it  because  it's  mine,  you  know !  I  admire  it  as  hair 
merely." 

"  Hair  merely — yes,  I  see !  "  And  he  bent  and  twisted 
the  osiers  in  his  hands  with  a  sudden  vigour  that  almost 
snapped  them.  He  was  thinking  of  certain  women  he  had 
known  in  London — women  whose  tresses,  dyed,  waved, 
crimped  and  rolled  over  fantastically  shaped  "  frames,"  had 
moved  him  to  positive  repulsion, — so  much  so  that  he  would 
rather  have  touched  the  skin  of  a  dead  rat  than  laid  a 
finger  on  the  tinted  stuff  called  "  hair  "  by  these  feminine 
hypocrites  of  fashion.  He  had  so  long  been  accustomed  to 
shams  that  the  open  sincerity  of  the  Weircombe  villagers 
was  almost  confusing  to  his  mind.  Nobody  seemed  to  have 
anything  to  conceal.  Everybody  knew,  or  seemed  to  know, 
all  about  everybody  else's  business.  There  were  no  bye- 
roads  or  corners  in  Weircombe.  There  was  only  one 
way  out, — to  the  sea.  Height  at  the  one  end, — width  and 
depth  at  the  other.  It  seemed  useless  to  have  any  secrets. 
He,  David  Helmsley,  felt  himself  to  be  singular  and  apart, 
in  that  he  had  his  own  hidden  mystery.  He  often  found 
himself  getting  restless  under  the  quiet  observation  of  Mr. 
Bunce's  eye,  yet  Mr.  Bunce  had  no  suspicions  of  him  what- 
ever. Mr.  Bunce  merely  watched  him  "  professionally," 
and  with  the  kindest  intention.  In  fact,  he  and  Bunce  be- 
came great  friends.  Bunce  had  entirely  accepted  the  story 
he  told  about  himself  to  the  effect  that  he  had  once  been 
"  in  an  office  in  the  city,"  and  looked  upon  him  as  a  super- 
annuated bank  clerk,  too  old  to  be  kept  on  in  his  former 
line  of  business.  Questions  that  were  put  to  him  respect- 
ing his  "  late  friend,  James  Deane,"  he  answered  with  ap- 
parent good  faith  by  saying  that  it  was  a  long  time  since 
he  had  seen  him,  and  that  it  was  only  as  a  "  last  forlorn 
hope  "  that  he  had  set  out  to  try  and  find  him,  "  as  he  had 
always  been  helpful  to  those  in  need."  Mary  herself  wished 
that  this  little  fiction  of  her  "  father's  friend  "  should  be 
taken  as  fact  by  all  the  village,  and  a  curious  part  of  her 
character  was  that  she  never  sought  to  ask  Helmsley  pri- 
vately, for  her  own  enlightenment,  anything  of  his  history. 
She  seemed  content  to  accept  him  as  an  old  and  infirm 
man,  who  must  be  taken  care  of  simply  because  he  was  old 
and  infirm,  without  further  question  or  argument.  Bunce 
was  always  very  stedfast  in  his  praise  of  her. 


220      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  She  ought — yes — she  ought  possibly  to  have  mar- 
ried,— "  he  said,  in  his  slow,  reflective  way — "  She  would 
have  made  a  good  wife,  and  a  still  better  mother.  But  an 
all-wise  Providence  has  a  remarkable  habit — yes,  I  think 
we  may  call  it  quite  a  remarkable  habit ! — of  persuading 
men  generally  to  choose  thriftless  and  flighty  women  for 
their  wives,  and  to  leave  the  capable  ones  single.  That  is 
so.  Or  in  Miss  Deane's  case  it  may  be  an  illustration  of 
the  statement  that  '  Mary  hath  chosen  the  better  part.' 
Certainly  when  either  men  or  women  are  happy  in  a  state 
of  single  blessedness,  a  reference  to  the  Seventh  Chapter 
of  the  Epistle  of  St.  Paul  to  the  Corinthians,  will  strengthen 
their  minds  and  considerably  assist  them  to  remain  in  that 
condition." 

Thus  Bunce  would  express  himself,  with  a  weighty  air 
as  of  having  given  some  vastly  important  and  legal  pro- 
nouncement. And  when  Helmsley  suggested  that  it  was 
possible  Mary  might  yet  marry,  he  shook  his  head  in  a 
strongly  expressed  negative. 

"  No,  David — no !  "  he  said — "  She  is  what  we  call — 
yes,  I  think  we  call  it — an  old  maid.  This  is  not  a  kind 
term,  perhaps,  but  it  is  a  true  one.  She  is,  I  believe,  in  her 
thirty-fifth  year, — a  settled  and  mature  woman.  No  man 
would  take  her  unless  she  had  a  little  money — enough,  let 
us  say,  to  help  him  set  up  a  farm.  For  if  a  man  takes  youth 
to  his  bosom,  he  does  not  always  mind  poverty, — but  if  he 
cannot  have  youth  he  always  wants  money.  Always !  There 
is  no  middle  course.  Now  our  good  Miss  Deane  will  never 
have  any  money.  And.  even  if  she  had,  we  may  take  it — 
yes,  I  certainly  think  we  may  take  it — that  she  would  not 
care  to  buy  a  husband.  No — no!  Her  marrying  days  are 
past.  " 

"  She  is  a  beautiful  woman !  "  said  Helmsley,  quietly. 

"  You  think  so  ?  Well,  well,  David !  We  have  got  used  to 
her  in  Weircombe, — she  seems  to  be  a  part  of  the  village. 
When  one  is  familiar  with  a  person,  one  often  fails  to  per- 
ceive the  beauty  that  is  apparent  to  a  stranger.  I  believe 
this  to  be  so — I  believe,  in  general,  we  may  take  it  to  be  so." 

And  such  was  the  impression  that  most  of  the  Weir- 
combe  folks  had  about  Mary — that  she  was  just  "  a  part  of 
the  village."  During  his  slow  ramblings  about  the  little 
sequestered  place,  Helmsley  talked  to  many  of  the  cottagers, 
who  all  treated  him  with  that  good-humour  and  tolerance 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   221 

which  they  considered  due  to  his  age  and  feebleness.  Young 
men  gave  him  a  ready  hand  if  they  saw  him  inclined  to 
falter  or  to  stumble  over  rough  places  in  the  stony  street, 
— little  children  ran  up  to  him  with  the  flowers  they  had 
gathered  on  the  hills,  or  the  shells  they  had  collected  from 
the  drift  on  the  shore — women  smiled  at  him  from  their 
open  doors  and  windows — girls  called  to  him  the  "  Good 
morning !  "  or  "  Good-night !  " — and  by  and  by  he  was  al- 
most affectionately  known  as  "  Old  David,  who  makes  bas- 
kets up  at  Miss  Deane's."  One  of  his  favourite  haunts  was 
the  very  end  of  the  "  coombe,"  which, — sharply  cutting 
down  to  the  shore, — seemed  there  to  have  split  asunder 
with  volcanic  force,  hurling  itself  apart  to  right  and  left 
in  two  great  castellated  rocks,  which  were  piled  up,  fortress- 
like,  to  an  altitude  of  about  four  hundred  or  more  feet,  and 
looked  sheer  down  over  the  sea.  When  the  tide  was  high 
the  waves  rushed  swirlingly  round  the  base  of  these  natural 
towers,  forming  a  deep  blackish-purple  pool  in  which  the 
wash  to  and  fro  of  pale  rose  and  deep  magenta  seaweed, 
flecked  with  trails  of  pale  grassy  green,  were  like  the  col- 
ours of  a  stormy  sunset  reflected  in  a  prism.  The  sounds 
made  here  by  the  inflowing  and  outgoing  of  the  waves  were 
curiously  musical, — like  the  thudding  of  a  great  organ,  with 
harp  melodies  floating  above  the  stronger  bass,  while  every 
now  and  then  a  sweet  sonorous  call,  like  that  of  a  silver 
trumpet,  swung  from  the  cavernous  depths  into  clear  space 
and  echoed  high  up  in  the  air,  dying  lingeringly  away  across 
the  hills.  Near  this  split  of  the  "  coombe  "  stood  the  very 
last  house  at  the  bottom  of  the  village,  built  of  white  stone 
and  neatly  thatched,  with  a  garden  running  to  the  edge  of 
the  mountain  stream,  which  at  this  point  rattled  its  way 
down  to  the  sea  with  that  usual  tendency  to  haste  exhibited 
by  everything  in  life  and  nature  when  coming  to  an  end. 
A  small  square  board  nailed  above  the  door  bore  the  in- 
scription legibiy  painted  in  plain  black  letters: — 

ABEL   TWITT, 

Stone   Mason, 
N.  B.  Good  Grave- Work  Guaranteed. 

The  author  of  this  device,  and  the  owner  of  the  dwell- 
ing, was  a  round,  rosy-faced  little  man,  with  shrewd  spar- 
kling grey  eyes,  a  pleasant  smile,  and  a  very  sociable  man- 
ner. He  was  the  great  "  gossip  "  of  the  place ;  no  old 


222      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

woman  at  a  wash-tub  or  behind  a  tea-tray  ever  wagged 
her  tongue  more  persistently  over  the  concerns  of  he  and 
she  and  you  and  they,  than  Abel  Twitt.  He  had  a  leisurely 
way  of  talking, — a  "  slow  and  silly  way  "  his  wife  called  it, — 
but  he  managed  to  convey  a  good  deal  of  information  con- 
cerning everybody  and  everything,  whether  right  or  wrong, 
in  a  very  few  sentences.  He  was  renowned  in  the  village  for 
his  wonderful  ability  in  the  composition  of  epitaphs,  and  by 
some  of  his  friends  he  was  called  "  Weircombe's  Pote  Lorit." 
One  of  his  most  celebrated  couplets  was  the  following: — 

"  This  Life  while  I  lived  it,  was  Painful  and  seldom  Victorious, 
I  trust  in  the  Lord  that  the  next  will  be  Pleasant  and  Glorious!  " 

Everybody  said  that  no  one  but  Abel  Twitt  could  have 
thought  of  such  grand  words  and  good  rhymes.  Abel 
himself  was  not  altogether  without  a  certain  gentle  con- 
sciousness that  in  this  particular  effort  he  had  done  well. 
But  he  had  no  literary  vanity. 

"  It  comes  nat'ral  to  me," — he  modestly  declared — "  It's 
a  God's  gift  which  I  takes  thankful  without  pride." 

Helmsley  had  become  very  intimate  with  both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Twitt.  In  his  every-day  ramble  down  to  the  ocean 
end  of  the  "  coombe  "  he  often  took  a  rest  of  ten  minutes 
or  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  Twitt's  house  before  climbing 
up  the  stony  street  again  to  Mary  Deane's  cottage,  and  Mrs. 
Twitt,  in  her  turn,  was  a  constant  caller  on  Mary,  to  whom 
she  brought  all  the  news  of  the  village,  all  the  latest  reme- 
dies for  every  sort  of  ailment,  and  all  the  oddest  supersti- 
tions and  omens  which  she  could  either  remember  or  in- 
vent concerning  every  incident  that  had  occurred  to  her 
or  to  her  neighbours  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours. 
There  was  no  real  morbidity  of  character  in  Mrs.  Twitt; 
she  only  had  that  peculiar  turn  of  mind  which  is  found  quite 
as  frequently  in  the  educated  as  in  the  ignorant,  and  which 
perceives  a  divine  or  a  devilish  meaning  in  almost  every 
trifling  occurrence  of  daily  life.  A  pin  on  the  ground  which 
was  not  picked  up  at  the  very  instant  it  was  perceived,  meant 
terrible  ill-luck  to  Mrs.  Twitt, — if  a  cat  sneezed,  it  was  a 
sign  that  there  was  going  to  be  sickness  in  the  village, — and 
she  always  carried  in  her  pocket  "  a  bit  of  coffin  "  to  keep 
away  the'  cramp.  She  also  had  a  limitless  faith  in  the  power 
of  cursing,  and  she  believed  most  implicitly  in  the  fiendish 
abilities  of  a  certain  person,  (whether  male  or  female,  she 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   223 

did  not  explain)  whose  address  she  gave  vaguely  as,  "  out 
on  the  hills,"  and  who,  if  requested,  and  paid  for  the  trouble, 
would  put  a  stick  into  the  ground,  muttering  a  mysterious 
malison  on  any  man  or  woman  you  chose  to  name  as  an 
enemy,  with  the  pronounced  guarantee: — 

"  As  this  stick  rotteth  to  decay, 
So  shall  (Mr,  Miss  or  Mrs  So-and-so)  rot  away!" 

But  with  the  exception  of  these  little  weaknesses,  Mrs. 
Twitt  was  a  good  sort  of  motherly  old  body,  warm-hearted 
and  cheerful,  too,  despite  her  belief  in  omens.  She  had 
taken  quite  a  liking  to  "  old  David  "  as  she  called  him,  and 
used  to  watch  his  thin  frail  figure,  now  since  his  illness 
sadly  bent,  jogging  slowly  down  the  street  towards  the  sea, 
with  much  kindly  solicitude.  For  despite  Mr.  Bunce's 
recommendation  that  he  should  "  sit  quiet,"  Helmsley  could 
not  bring  himself  to  the  passively  restful  condition  of  weak 
and  resigned  old  age.  He  had  too  much  on  his  mind  for 
that.  He  worked  patiently  every  morning  at  basket-making, 
in  which  he  was  quickly  becoming  an  adept ;  but  in  the  af- 
ternoon he  grew  restless,  and  Mary,  seeing  it  was  better 
for  him  to  walk  as  long  as  walking  was  possible  to  him, 
let  him  go  out  when  he  fancied  it,  though  always  with  a 
little  anxiety  for  him  lest  he  should  meet  with  some  acci- 
dent. In  this  anxiety,  however,  all  the  neighbours  took  a 
share,  so  that  he  was  well  watched,  and  more  carefully 
guarded  than  he  knew,  on  his  way  down  to  the  shore  and 
back  again,  Abel  Twitt  himself  often  giving  him  an  arm 
on  the  upward  climb  home. 

"  You'll  have  to  do  some  of  that  for  me  soon !  "  said 
Helmsley  on  one  of  these  occasions,  pointing  up  with  his 
stick  at  the  board  over  Twitt's  door,  which  said  "  Good 
Grave-Work  Guaranteed :  " 

Twitt  rolled  his  eyes  slowly  up  in  the  direction  indicated, 
smiled,  and  rolled  them  down  again. 

"  So  I  will,— so  I  will !  "  he  replied  cheerfully—"  An  I'll 
charge  ye  nothin'  either.  I'll  make  ye  as  pretty  a  little  stone 
as  iver  ye  saw — what'll  last  too! — ay,  last  till  th'  Almighty 
comes  a'  tearin'  down  in  clouds  o'  glory.  A  stone  well 
bedded  in,  ye  unnerstan'? — one  as'll  stay  upright — no  slop 
work.  An'  if  ye  can't  think  of  a  hepitaph  for  yerself  I'll 
write  one  for  ye — there  now!  Bible  texes  is  goin'  out  o' 
fashion — it's  best  to  'ave  somethin'  orig'nal — an'  for  orig- 


224,      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

inality  I  don't  think  I  can  be  beat  in  these  parts.   I'll  do  ye 
yer  hepitaph  with  pleasure !  " 

"  That  will  be  kind !  "  And  Helmsley  smiled  a  little  sadly 
— "  What  will  you  say  of  me  when  I'm  gone?  " 

Twitt  looked  at  him  thoughtfully,  with  his  head  very 
much  on  one  side. 

"  Well,  ye  see,  I  don't  know  yer  history," — he  said — 
"  But  I  considers  ye  'armless  an'  unfortunate.  I'd  'ave  to 
make  it  out  in  my  own  mind  like.  Now  Timbs,  the  grocer 
an'  'aberdashery  man,  when  'is  wife  died,  he  wouldn't  let 
me  'ave  my  own  way  about  the  moniment  at  all.  '  Put  'er 
down,'  sez  'e — '  Put  'er  down  as  the  Dearly-Beloved  Wife 
of  Samuel  Timbs.'  '  Now,  Timbs,'  sez  I — '  don't  ye  go 
foolin'  with  'ell-fire!  Ye  know  she  wor'nt  yer  Dearly  Be- 
loved, forbye  that  she  used  to  throw  wet  dish-clouts  at  yer 
'ed,  screechin'  at  ye  for  all  she  was  wuth,  an'  there  ain't 
no  Dearly  Beloved  in  that.  Why  do  ye  want  to  put  a  lie 
on  a  stone  for  the  Lord  to  read  ? '  But  'e  was  as  obst'nate 
as  pigs.  '  Dish-clouts  or  no  dish-clouts/  sez  'e,  '  I'll  'ave 
'er  fixed  up  proper  as  my  Dearly-Beloved  Wife  for  sight 
o'  parson  an'  neighbours.'  '  Ah,  Sam ! '  sez  I — '  I've  got 
ye!  It's  for  parson  an'  neighbours  ye  want  the  hepitaph, 
an'  not  for  the  Lord  at  all !  Well,  I'll  do  it  if  so  be  yer  wish 
it,  but  I  won't  take  the  'sponsibility  of  it  at  the  Day  o' 
Judgment.'  '  I  don't  want  ye  to ' — sez  'e,  quite  peart. 
'I'll  take  it  myself!'  An'  if  ye'll  believe  me,  David,  'e 
sits  down  an'  writes  me  what  'e  calls  a  '  Memo '  of  what 
'e  wants  put  on  the  grave  stone,  an'  it's  the  biggest  whopper 
I've  iver  seen  out  o'  the  noospapers.  I've  got  it  'ere — " 
And,  referring  to  a  much  worn  and  battered  old  leather 
pocket-book,  Twitt  drew  from  it  a  soiled  piece  of  paper, 
and  read  as  follows — 

Here  lies 
All  that  is  Mortal 

of 

CATHERINE  TIMBS 
The  Dearly  Beloved  Wife 

of 
Samuel  Timbs  of  Weircombe. 

She  Died 

At  the  Early  Age  of  Forty-Nine 

Full  of  Virtues  and  Excellencies 

Which  those  who  knew  Her 

Deeply  Deplore 

.  a"^ 
NOW  is  in  Heaven. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   225 

"And  the  only  true  thing  about  that  hepitaph," — con- 
tinued Twitt,  folding  up  the  paper  again  and  returning  it 
to  its  former  receptacle, — "  is  the  words  '  Here  Lies.'  " 

Helmsley  laughed,  and  Twitt  laughed  with  him. 

"  Some  folks  'as  the  curiousest  ways  o'  wantin'  their- 
selves  remembered  arter  they're  gone  " — he  went  on —  "  An' 
others  seems  as  if  they  don't  care  for  no  mem'ry  at  all  'cept 
in  the  'arts  o'  their  friends.  Now  there  was  Tom  o'  the 
Gleam,  a  kind  o'  gypsy  rover  in  these  parts,  'im  as  mur- 
dered a  lord  down  at  Blue  Anchor  this  very  year's  July " 

Helmsley  drew  a  quick  breath. 

"  I  know !  "  he  said—"  I  was  there !  " 

"  So  I've  'eerd  say," — responded  Twitt  sympathetically 
— "  An'  an  awsome  sight  it  must  a'  bin  for  ye !  Mary 
Deane  told  us  as  'ow  ye'd  bin  ravin'  about  Tom — an' 
m'appen  likely  it  give  ye  a  turn  towards  yer  long  sickness." 

"  I  was  there," — said  Helmsley,  shuddering  at  the  rec- 
ollection— "  1  had  stopped  on  the  road  to  try  and  get  a 
cheap  night's  lodging  at  the  very  inn  where  the  murder  took 
place — but — but  there  were  two  murders  that  day,  and  the 
•first  one  was  the  worst !  " 

"  That's  what  I  said  at  the  time,  an'  that's  what  I've  allus 
thought !  "—declared  Twitt— "  Why  that  little  'Kiddie' 
child  o'  Tom's  was  the  playfullest,  prettiest  little  rogue  ye'd 
see  in  a  hundred  mile  or  more !  'Oldin'  out  a  posy  o' 
flowers  to  a  motor-car,  poor  little  innercent!  It  might  as 
well  'ave  'eld  out  flowers  to  the  devil ! — though  my  own 
opinion  is  as  the  devil  'imself  wouldn't  'a  ridden  down  a 
child.  But  a  motorin'  lord  o'  these  days  is  neither  ipan  nor 
beast  nor  devil, — Vs  a  somethin'  altogether  owhuman — on- 
human  out  an'  out, — a  thing  wi'  goggles  over  his  eyes  an' 
no  'art  in  his  body,  which  we  aint  iver  seen  in  this  poor  old 
world  afore.  Thanks  be  to  the  Lord  no  motors  can  ever 
come  into  Weircombe, — they  tears  round  an'  round  by  an- 
other road,  an'  we  neither  sees,  'ears,  nor  smells  'em,  for 
which  I  often  sez  to  my  wife — '  O  be  joyful  in  the  Lord  all 
ye  lands ;  serve  the  Lord  with  gladness  an'  come  before  His 
presence  with  a  song ! '  An'  she  ups  an'  sez — '  Don't  be 
blaspheemous,  Twitt,— I'll  tell  parson  ' — an'  I  sez — '  Tell  'im, 
old  'ooman,  if  ye  likes ! '  An'  when  she  tells  'im,  'e  smiles 
nice  an'  kind,  an'  sez — '  It's  quite  lawful,  Mrs.  Twitt,  to 
quote  Scriptural  thanksgiving  on  all  necessary  occasions ! ' 
E's  a  good  little  chap,  our  parson,  but  'e's  that  weak  on  his 


226      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

chest  an'  ailing  that  'e's  goin'  away  this  year  to  Madeira  for 
rest  and  warm — an'  a  blessid  old  Timp'rance  raskill's  coming 
to  take  dooty  in  'is  place.  Ah ! — none  of  us  Weircombe  folk 
'ill  be  very  reg'lar  church-goers  while  Mr.  Arbroath's  here." 

Helmsley  started  slightly. 

"Arbroath?     I've  seen  that  man." 

"  'Ave  ye  ?  Well,  ye  'aven't  seen  no  beauty !  "  And 
Twitt  gave  vent  to  a  chuckling  laugh — "  'E'll  be  startin'  'is 
'Igh  Jink  purcessions  an'  vestiments  in  our  plain  little  church 
up  yonder,  an'  by  the  Lord,  'e'll  'ave  to  purcess  an'  vestiment 
by  'isself,  for  Weircombe  wont  'elp  'im.  We  aint  none  of  us 
'Igh  Jink  folks." 

"  Is  that  your  name  for  High  Church  ?  "  asked  Helmsley, 
amused. 

"  It  is  so,  an'  a  very  good  name  it  be,"  declared  Twitt, 
stoutly — "  For  if  all  the  bobbins'  an'  scrapins'  an'  crosses 
an'  banners  aint  a  sort  o'  jinkin'  Lord  Mayor's  show,  then 
what  be  they?  It's  fair  oaffish  to  bob  to  the  east  as  them 
'Igh  Jinkers  does,  for  we  aint  never  told  in  the  Gospels  that 
th'  Almighty  'olds  that  partikler  quarter  o'  the  wind  as  a 
place  o'  residence.  The  Lord's  everywhere, — east,  west, 
north,  south, — why  he's  with  us  at  this  very  minute !  " — and 
Twitt  raised  his  eyes  piously  to  the  heavens — "  He's  'elpin' 
you  an'  me  to  draw  the  breath  through  our  lungs — for  if  He 
didn't  'elp,  we  couldn't  do  it,  that's  certain.  An'  if  He  makes 
the  sun  to  rise  in  the  east,  He  makes  it  to  sink  in  the  west,  an' 
there's  no  choice  either  way,  an'  we  sez  our  prayers  simple 
both  times  o'  day,  not  to  the  sun  at  all,  but  to  the  Maker  o' 
the  sun,  an'  of  everything  else  as  we  sees.  No,  no ! — no  Tgh 
Jinks  for  me ! — I  don't  want  to  bow  to  no  East  when  I  sees 
the  Lord's  no  more  east  than  He's  west,  an'  no  more  in  either 
place  than  He  is  here,  close  to  me  an'  doin'  more  for  me  than 
I  could  iver  do  for  myself.  'Igh  Jinks  is  unchristin, — as 
unchristin  as  cremation,  an'  nothin's  more  unchristin  than 
that!" 

"  Why,  what  makes  you  think  so  ? "  asked  Helmsley, 
surprised. 

"  What  makes  me  think  so  ?  "  And  Twitt  drew  himself 
up  with  a  kind  of  reproachful  dignity — "  Now,  old  David, 
don't  go  for  to  say  as  you  don't  think  so  too  ?  " 

"  Cremation  unchristian  ?  Well,  I  can't  say  I've  ever 
thought  of  it  in  that  light, — it's  supposed  to  be  the  cleanest 
way  of  getting  rid  of  the  dead " 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   227 

"  Gettin'  rid  of  the  dead!  " — echoed  Twitt,  almost  scorn- 
fully— "  That's  what  ye  can  never  do !  They'se  everywhere, 
all  about  us,  if  we  only  had  strong  eyes  enough  to  see  'em. 
An'  cremation  aint  Christin.  I'll  tell  ye  for  why," — here  he 
bent  forward  and  tapped  his  two  middle  fingers  slowly  on 
Helmsley's  chest  to  give  weight  to  his  words — "  Look  y'ere ! 
Supposin'  our  Lord's  body  'ad  been  cremated,  where  would 
us  all  a'  bin  ?  Where  would  a'  bin  our  '  sure  an*  certain 
'ope  '  o'  the  resurrection  ?  " 

Helmsley  was  quite  taken  aback  by  this  sudden  proposi- 
tion, which  presented  cremation  in  an  entirely  new  light. 
But  a  moment's  thought  restored  to  him  his  old  love  of  argu- 
ment, and  he  at  once  replied : — 

"  Why,  it  would  have  been  just  the  same  as  it  is  now, 
surely!  If  Christ  was  divine,  he  could  have  risen  from 
burnt  ashes  as  well  as  from  a  tomb." 

"  Out  of  a  hurn  ?  "  demanded  Twitt,  persistently — "  If  our 
Lord's  body  'ad  bin  burnt  an'  put  in  a  hurn,  an'  the  hurn  'ad 
bin  took  into  the  'ouse  o'  Pontis  Pilate,  an'  sealed,  an'  kept 
till  now?  Eh?  What  d'ye  say  to  that?  I  tell  ye,  David, 
there  wouldn't  a  bin  no  savin'  grace  o'  Christ'anity  at  all! 
An'  that's  why  I  sez  cremation  is  unchristin, — it's  blaspheem- 
ous  an'  'eethen.  For  our  Lord  plainly  said  to  'is  disciples 
arter  he  came  out  o'  the  tomb — '  Behold  my  hands  and  my 
feet, — handle  me  and  see,' — an'  to  the  doubtin'  Thomas  He 
said — '  Reach  hither  thy  hand  and  thrust  it  into  my  side,  and 
be  not  faithless  but  believing.'  David,  you  mark  my  words ! 
— them  as  'as  their  bodies  burnt  in  crematorums  is  just  as 
dirty  in  their  souls  as  they  can  be,  an'  they  'opes  to  burn  all 
the  blackness  o'  theirselves  into  nothingness  an'  never  to  rise 
no  more,  'cos  they'se  afraid!  They  don't  want  to  be  laid 
in  good  old  mother  earth,  which  is  the  warm  forcin'  place  o' 
the  Lord  for  raisin'  up  'uman  souls  as  He  raises  up  the  blos- 
soms in  spring,  an'  all  other  things  which  do  give  Him  grate- 
ful praise  an'  thanksgivin' !  They  gits  theirselves  burnt  to 
ashes  'cos  they  don't  want  to  be  raised  up, — they'se  never 
praised  the  Lord  'ere,  an'  they  wouldn't  know  'ow  to  do  it 
there!  But,  mercy  me!"  concluded  Twitt  ruminatingly, — 
"  I've  seen  orful  queer  things  bred  out  of  ashes ! — beetles  an' 
sich  like  reptiles, — an'  I  wouldn't  much  care  to  see  the 
spechul  stock  as  raises  itself  from  the  burnt  bits  of  a  liar!  " 

Helmsley  hardly  knew  whether  to  smile  or  to  look  serious, 
— such  quaint  propositions  as  this  old  stonemason  put  for- 


228      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

ward  on  the  subject  of  cremation  were  utterly  novel  to  his 
experience.  And  while  he  yet  stood  under  the  little  porch 
of  Twitt's  cottage,  there  came  shivering  up  through  the  quiet 
autumnal  air  a  slow  thud  of  breaking  waves. 

"  Tide's  comin'  in," — said  Twitt,  after  listening  a  minute 
or  two — "An'  that  minds  me  o'  what  I  was  goin'  to  tell  ye 
about  Tom  o'  the  Gleam.  After  the  inkwist,  the  gypsies 
came  forward  an'  claimed  the  bodies  o'  Tom  an'  'is  Kiddie, — 
an'  they  was  buried  accordin'  to  Tom's  own  wish,  which  it 
seems  'e'd  told  one  of  'is  gypsy  pals  to  see  as  was  carried  out 
whenever  an'  wheresoever  'e  died.  An'  what  sort  of  a 
buryin'  d'ye  think  'e  'ad?" 

Helmsley  shook  his  head  in  an  expressed  inability  to 
imagine. 

"  Twas  out  there," — and  Twitt  pointed  with  one  hand  to 
the  shining  expanse  of  the  ocean — "  The  gypsies  put  'im  an' 
is  Kiddie  in  a  basket  coffin  which  they  made  theirselves,  an' 
covered  it  all  over  wi'  garlands  o'  flowers  an'  green  boughs, 
an'  then  fastened  four  great  lumps  o'  lead  to  the  four  cor- 
ners, an'  rowed  it  out  in  a  boat  to  about  four  or  five  miles 
from  the  shore,  right  near  to  the  place  where  the  moon  at 
full  '  makes  a  hole  in  the  middle  o'  the  sea,'  as  the  children 
sez,  and  there  they  dropped  it  into  the  water.  Then  they 
sang  a  funeral  song — an'  by  the  Lord! — the  sound  o'  that 
song  crept  into  yer  veins  an'  made  yer  blood  run  cold! — 
'twas  enough  to  break  a  man's  'art,  let  alone  a  woman's,  to 
'ear  them  gypsy  voices  all  in  a  chorus  wailin'  a  farewell  to 
the  man  an'  the  child  in  the  sea, — an'  the  song  floated  up  an' 
about,  'ere  an'  there  an'  everywhere,  all  over  the  land  from 
Cleeve  Abbey  onnards,  an'  at  Blue  Anchor,  so  they  sez,  it 
was  so  awsome  an'  eerie  that  the  people  got  out  o'  their  beds, 
shiverin',  an'  opened  their  windows  to  listen,  an'  when  they 
listened  they  all  fell  a  cryin'  like  children.  An'  it's  no  won- 
der the  inn  where  poor  Tom  did  his  bad  deed  and  died  his 
bad  death,  is  shut  up  for  good,  an'  the  people  as  kept  it  gone 
away — no  one  couldn't  stay  there  arter  that.  Ay,  ay !  "  and 
Twitt  sighed  profoundly — "  Poor  wild  ne'er-do-weel  Tom ! 
He  lies  deep  down  enough  now  with  the  waves  flpwin'  over 
'im  an'  'is  little  '  Kiddie '  clasped  tight  in  'is  arms.  For 
they  never  separated  'em, — death  'ad  locked  'em  up  too  fast 
together  for  that.  An'  they're  sleepin'  peaceful, — an'  there 
they'll  sleep  till — till  '  the  sea  gives  up  its  dead.'  " 

Helmsley  could  not  speak, — he  was  too  deeply  moved. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   229 

The  sound  of  the  in-coming  tide  grew  fuller  and  more  sonor- 
ous, and  Twitt  presently  turned  to  look  critically  at  the  heav- 
ing waters. 

"  There's  a  cry  in  the  sea  to-day," — he  said, — "  M'appen 
it'll  be  rough  to-night." 

They  were  silent  again,  till  presently  Helmsley  roused  him- 
self from  the  brief  melancholy  abstraction  into  which  he  had 
been  plunged  by  the  story  of  Tom  o'  the  Gleam's  funeral. 

"  I  think  I'll  gp  down  on  the  shore  for  a  bit," — he  said ; 
"  I  like  to  get  as  close  to  the  waves  as  I  can  when  they're 
rolling  in." 

"  Well,  don't  get  too  close,"— said  Twitt,  kindly—"  We'll 
be  havin'  ye  washed  away  if  ye  don't  take  care!  There's 
onny  an  hour  to  tea-time,  an'  Mary  Deane's  a  punctooal 
'ooman !  " 

"  I  shall  not  keep  her  waiting — never  fear !  "  and  Helms- 
ley  smiled  as  he  said  good-day,  and  jogged  slowly  along  his 
favourite  accustomed  path  to  the  beach.  The  way  though 
rough,  was  not  very  steep,  and  it  was  becoming  quite  easy 
and  familiar  to  him.  He  soon  found  himself  on  the  firm 
brown  sand  sprinkled  with  a  fringe  of  sea-weed  and  shells, 
and  further  adorned  in  various  places  with  great  rough 
boulders,  picturesquely  set  up  on  end,  like  the  naturally  hewn 
memorials  of  great  heroes  passed  away.  Here,  the  ground 
being  level,  he  could  walk  more  quickly  and  with  greater 
comfort  than  in  the  one  little  precipitous  street  of  Weir- 
combe,  and  he  paced  up  and  down,  looking  at  the  rising  and 
falling  hollows  of  the  sea  with  wistful  eyes  that  in  their  grow- 
ing age  and  dimness  had  an  intensely  pathetic  expression, 
— the  expression  one  sometimes  sees  in  the  eyes  of  a  dog  who 
knows  that  its  master  is  leaving  it  for  an  indefinite  period. 

"  What  a  strange  chaos  of  brain  must  be  that  of  the 
suicide !  "  he  thought — "  Who,  that  can  breathe  the  fresh  air 
and  watch  the  lights  and  shadows  in  the  sky  and  on  the 
waves,  would  really  wish  to  leave  the  world,  unless  the  mind 
had  completely  lost  its  balance!  We  have  never  seen  any- 
thing more  beautiful  than  this  planet  upon  which  we  are 
born, — though  there  is  a  sub-consciousness  in  us  which 
prophesies  of  yet  greater  beauty  awaiting  higher  vision. 
The  sub-conscious  self!  That  is  the  scientist's  new  name 
for  the  Soul, — but  the  Soul  is  a  better  term.  Now  my  sub- 
conscious self — my  Soul, — is  lamenting  the  fact  that  it  must 
leave  life  when  it  has  just  begun  to  learn  how  to  live!  ] 


should  like  to  be  here  and  see  what  Mary  will  do  when — 
when  I  am  gone!  Yet  how  do  I  know  but  that  in  very 
truth  I  shall  be  here? — or  in  some  way  be  made  aware  of 
her  actions?  She  has  a  character  such  as  I  never  thought 
to  find  in  any  mortal  woman, — strong,  pure,  tender, — and 
sincere! — ah,  that  sincerity  of  hers  is  like  the  very  sun- 
light ! — so  bright  and  warm,  and  clean  of  all  ulterior  motive ! 
And  measured  by  a  worldly  estimate  only — what  is  she? 
The  daughter  of  a  humble  florist, — herself  a  mere  mender  of 
lace,  and  laundress  of  fine  ladies'  linen!  And  her  sweet 
and  honest  eyes  have  never  looked  upon  that  rag-fair  of 
nonsense  we  call  *  society  ' ; — she  never  thinks  of  riches  : — 
and  yet  she  has  refined  and  artistic  taste  enough  to  love  the 
lace  she  mends,  just  for  pure  admiration  of  its  beauty, — not 
because  she  herself  desires  to  wear  it,  but  because  it  repre- 
sents the  work  and  lives  of  others,  and  because  it  is  in  itself 
a  miracle  of  design.  I  wonder  if  she  ever  notices  how 
closely  I  watch  her !  I  could  draw  from  memory  the  shapely 
outline  of  her  hand, — a  white,  smooth,  well-kept  hand,  never 
allowed  to  remain  soiled  by  all  her  various  forms  of  domestic 
labour, — an  expressive  hand,  indicating  health  and  sanity, 
with  that  deep  curve  at  the  wrist,  and  the  delicately  shaped 
fingers  which  hold  the  needle  so  lightly  and  guide  it  so  deftly 
through  the  intricacies  of  the  riven  lace,  weaving  a  web  of 
such  fairy-like  stitches  that  the  original  texture  seems  never 
to  have  been  broken.  I  have  sat  quiet  for  an  hour  or  more 
studying  her  when  she  has  thought  me  asleep  in  my  chair  by 
the  fire, — and  I  have  fancied  that  my  life  is  something  like 
the  damaged  fabric  she  is  so  carefully  repairing, — holes 
and  rents  everywhere, — all  the  symmetry  of  design  drop- 
ping to  pieces, — the  little  garlands  of  roses  and  laurels 
snapped  asunder, — and  she,  with  her  beautiful  white  hands 
is  gently  drawing  the  threads  together  and  mending  it, — for 
what  purpose  ? — to  what  end  ?  " 

And  here  the  involuntary  action  of  some  little  brain-cell 
gave  him  the  memory  of  certain  lines  in  Browning's  "  Rabbi 
Ben  Ezra  "  :— 

"  Therefore  I  summon  age 

To  grant  youth's  heritage 
Life's  struggle  having  so  far  reached  its  term; 

Thence  shall  I  pass,  approved 

A  man,  for  aye  removed 
From  the  developed  brute;  a  god,  though  in  the  germ. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   231 

And  I  shall  thereupon 

Take  rest  ere  I  be'  gone 
Once  more  on  my  adventures  brave  and  new — 

Fearless — and  unperplexed 

When  I  wage  battle  next, 
What  weapons  to  select,  what  armour  to  indue ! " 


He  turned  his  eyes  again  to  the  sea  just  as  a  lovely  light, 
pale  golden  and  clear  as  topaz,  opened  suddenly  in  the  sky, 
shedding  a  shower  of  luminant  reflections  on  the  waves.  He 
drew  a  deep  breath,  and  unconsciously  straightened  himself. 

"  When  death  comes  it  shall  find  me  ready !  "  he  said,  half 
aloud ; — and  then  stood,  confronting  the  ethereal  glory. 
The  waves  rolled  in  slowly  and  majestically  one  after  the 
other,  and  broke  at  his  feet  in  long  wreaths  of  creamy  foam, 
— and  presently  one  or  two  light  gusts  of  a  rather  chill  wind 
warned  him  that  he  had  best  be  returning  homeward.  While 
he  yet  hesitated,  a  leaf  of  paper  blew  towards  him,  and 
danced  about  like  a  large  erratic  butterfly,  finally  dropping 
just  where  the  stick  on  which  he  leaned  made  a  hole  in  the 
sand.  He  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  It  was  covered  with 
fine  small  handwriting,  and  before  he  could  make  any  at- 
tempt to  read  it,  a  man  sprang  up  from  behind  one  of  the 
rocky  boulders  close  by,  and  hurried  forward,  raising  his 
Cap  as  he  came. 

"  That's  mine !  "  he  said,  quickly,  with  a  pleasant  smile — 
"  It's  a  loose  page  from  my  note-book.  Thank-you  so  much 
for  saving  it !  " 

Helmsley  gave  him  the  paper  at  once,  with  a  courteous 
inclination  of  the  head. 

"  I've  been  scribbling  down  here  all  day," — proceeded  the 
new  comer — "And  there's  not  been  much  wind  till  now. 
But  " — and  he  glanced  up  and  about  him  critically ;  "  I  think 
we  shall  have  a  puff  of  sou'wester  to-night." 

Helmsley  looked  at  him  with  interest.  He  was  a  man  of 
distinctive  appearance, — tall,  well-knit,  and  muscular,  with 
a  fine  intellectual  face  and  keen  clear  grey  eyes.  Not  a  very 
young  man ; — he  seemed  about  thirty-eight  or  forty,  perhaps 
more,  for  his  dark  hair  was  fairly  sprinkled  with  silver.  But 
his  manner  was  irresistibly  bright  and  genial,  and  it  was  im- 
possible to  meet  his  frank,  open,  almost  boyish  gaze,  without 
a  desire  to  know  more  of  him,  and  an  inclination  to  like  him. 

"  Do  you  make  the  sea-shore  your  study  ?  "  asked  Helms- 


232      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

ley,  with  a  slight  gesture  towards  the  note-book  into  which 
the  stranger  was  now  carefully  putting  the  strayed  leaflet. 

"  Pretty  much  so !  "  and  he  laughed — "  I've  only  got  one 
room  to  live  in — and  it  has  to  serve  for  both  sleeping  and 
eating — so  I  come  out  here  to  breathe  and  expand  a  bit." 
He  paused,  and  then  added  gently — "  May  I  give  you  my 
arm  up  to  Miss  Deane's  cottage  ?  " 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  I  live  there  ?  "  and  Helmsley 
smiled  as  he  put  the  question. 

"  Oh,  well,  all  the  village  knows  that ! — and  though  I'm 
quite  new  to  the  village — I've  only  been  here  a  week — I  know 
it  too.  You're  old  David,  the  basketmaker,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes."  And  Helmsley  nodded  emphatically — "  That's 
me!" 

"  Then  I  know  all  about  you !  My  name's  Angus  Reay. 
I'm  a  Scotchman, — I  am,  or  rather,  I  -was  a  journalist,  and 
as  poor  as  Job !  That's  me !  Come  along !  " 

The  cheery  magnetism  of  his  voice  and  look  attracted 
Helmsley,  and  almost  before  he  knew  it  he  was  leaning  on 
this  new  friend's  arm,  chatting  with  him  concerning  the 
village,  the  scenery,  and  the  weather,  in  the  easiest  way 
possible. 

"  I  came  on  here  from  Minehead," — said  Reay — "  That 
was  too  expensive  a  place  for  me !  "  And  a  bright  smile 
flashed  from  lips  to  eyes  with  an  irresistible  sunny  effect ; 
"  I've  got  just  twenty  pounds  in  the  world,  and  I  must  make 
it  last  me  a  year.  For  room,  food,  fuel,  clothes,  drink  and 
smoke !  I've  promptly  cut  off  the  last  two !  " 

"And  you're  none  the  worse  for  it,  I  daresay !  "  rejoined 
Helmsley. 

"  Not  a  bit !  A  good  deal  the  better.  In  Fleet  Street  the 
men  drank  and  smoked  pretty  heavily,  and  I  had  to  drink 
and  smoke  with  them,  if  I  wanted  to  keep  in  with  the  lot. 
I  did  want  to  keep  in  with  them,  and  yet  I  didn't.  It  was  a 
case  of  '  needs  must  when  the  devil  drives ! ' : 

"  You  say  you  were  a  journalist.     Aren't  you  one  now?  " 

"No.  I'm  'kicked  off '  !  "  And  Reay  threw  back  his 
head  and  laughed  joyously.  "  '  Off  you  go ! '  said  my  editor, 
one  fine  morning,  after  I  had  slaved  away  for  him  for  nearly 
two  years — '  We  don't  want  any  canting  truth-tellers  here ! ' 
Now  mind  that  stone !  You  nearly  slipped.  Hold  my  arm 
tighter!" 

Helmsley  did  as  he  was  told,  quite  meekly,  looking  up 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   233 

with  a  good  deal  of  curiosity  at  this  tall  athletic  creature, 
with  the  handsome  head  and  masterful  manner.  Reay 
caught  his  enquiring  glance  and  laughed  again. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  wanted  to  know  more  about  me,  old 
David !  "  he  said  gaily — "  So  you  shall !  I've  nothing  to 
conceal !  As  I  tell  you  I  was  '  kicked  off '  out  of  journal- 
ism— my  fault  being  that  I  published  a  leaderette  exposing 
a  mean  '  deal '  on  the  part  of  a  certain  city  plutocrat.  I 
didn't  know  the  rascal  had  shares  in  the  paper.  But  he  had 
— under  an  '  alias.'  And  he  made  the  devil's  own  row  about 
it  with  the  editor,  who  nearly  died  of  it,  being  inclined  to 
apoplexy — and  between  the  two  of  them  I  was  '  dropped.' 
Then  the  word  ran  along  the  press  wires  that  I  was  an 
'  unsafe '  man.  I  could  not  get  any  post  worth  having — I 
had  saved  just  twenty  pounds — so  I  took  it  all  and  walked 
away  from  London — literally  walked  away !  I  haven't  spent 
a  penny  in  other  locomotion  than  my  own  legs  since  I  left 
Fleet  Street." 

Helmsley  listened  with  eager  interest.  Here  was  a  man 
who  had  done  the  very  thing  which  he  himself  had  started 
to  do ; — "  tramped  "  the  road.  But — with  what  a  differ- 
ence !  Full  manhood,  physical  strength,  and  activity  on  the 
one  side, — decaying  power,  feebleness  of  limb  and  weariness 
on  the  other.  They  had  entered  the  village  street  by  this 
time,  and  were  slowly  walking  up  it  together. 

"  You  see," — went  on  Reay, — "  of  course  I  could  have 
taken  the  train — but  twenty  pounds  is  only  twenty  pounds — 
and  it  must  last  me  twelve  solid  months.  By  that  time  I 
shall  have  finished  my  work." 

"And  what's  that?"  asked  Helmsley. 

"  It's  a  book.  A  novel.  And  " — here  he  set  his  teeth 
hard — "  I  intend  that  it  shall  make  me — famous !  " 

"  The  intention  is  good," — said  Helmsley,  slowly — "  But 
— there  are  so  many  novels !  " 

"  No,  there  are  not !  "  declared  Reay,  decisively — "  There 
are  plenty  of  rag-books  called  novels — but  they  are  not  real 
'  novels.'  There's  nothing  '  new '  in  them.  There's  no 
touch  of  real,  suffering,  palpitating  humanity  in  them !  The 
humanity  of  to-day  is  infinitely  more  complex  than  it  was 
in  the  days  of  Scott  or  Dickens,  but  there's  no  Scott  or 
Dickens  to  epitomise  its  character  or  delineate  its  tempera- 
ment. I  want  to  be  the  twentieth  century  Scott  and  Dickens 
rolled  into  one  stupendous  literary  Titan !  " 


234      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

His  mellow  laughter  was  hearty  and  robust.  Helmsley 
caught  its  infection  and  laughed  too. 

"  But  why," — he  asked — "  do  you  want  to  write  a  novel  ? 
Why  not  write  a  real  book?" 

"  What  do  you  call  a  real  book,  old  David  ?  "  demanded 
Reay,  looking  down  upon  him  with  a  sudden  piercing  glance. 

Helmsley  was  for  a  moment  confused.  He  was  think- 
ing of  such  books  as  Carlyle's  "  Past  and  Present  " — Emer- 
son's "  Essays  "  and  the  works  of  Ruskin.  But  he  remem- 
bered in  good  time  that  for  an  old  "  basketmaker  "  to  be 
familiar  with  such  literary  masterpieces  might  seem  strange 
to  a  wide-awake  "  journalist,"  therefore  he  checked  himself 
in  time. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  I  believe  I  was  thinking  of  '  Pil- 
grim's Progress  '  !  "  he  said. 

"  '  Pilgrim's  Progress  '  ?  Ah  !  A  fine  book — a  grand 
book !  Twelve  years  and  a  half  of  imprisonment  in  Bedford 
Jail  turned  Bunyan  out  immortal !  And  here  am  I — not  in 
jail — but  free  to  roam  where  I  choose, — with  twenty  pounds ! 
By  Jove !  I  ought  to  be  greater  than  Bunyan !  Now  '  Pil- 
grim's Progress  '  was  a  '  novel/  if  you  like !  " 

"  I  thought," — submitted  Helmsley,  with  the  well-assumed 
air  of  a  man  who  was  not  very  conversant  with  literature — 
"  that  it  was  a  religious  book  ?  " 

"  So  it  is.  A  religious  novel.  And  a  splendid  one !  But 
humanity's  gone  past  that  now — it  wants  a  wider  view — a 
bigger,  broader  outlook.  Do  you  know — "  and  here  he 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  rugged  winding  street,  and 
looked  earnestly  at  his  companion — "  do  you  know  what  I 
see  men  doing  at  the  present  day? — I  see  them  rushing 
towards  the  verge — the  very  extreme  edge  of  what  they 
imagine  to  be  the  Actual — and  from  that  edge  getting  ready 
to  plunge — into  Nothingness !  " 

Something  thrilling  in  his  voice  touched  a  responsive 
chord  in  Helmsley's  own  heart. 

"  Why — that  is  where  we  all  tend !  "  he  said,  with  a  quick 
sigh — "  That  is  where  /  am  tending ! — where  you,  in  your 
time,  must  also  tend — nothingness — or  death !  " 

"No!"  said  Reay,  almost  loudly— "  That's  not  true!" 
That's  just  what  I  deny !  For  me  there  is  no  '  Nothing- 
ness ' — no  '  death '  !  Space  is  full  of  creative  organisms. 
Dissolution  means  re-birth.  It  is  all  life — life: — glorious 
life !  We  live — we  have  always  lived — we  shall  always 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   235 

live !  "  He  paused,  flushing  a  little  as  though  half  ashamed 
of  his  own  enthusiasm — then,  dropping  his  voice  to  its 
normal  tone  he  said — "  You've  got  me  on  my  hobby  horse — 
I  must  come  off  it,  or  I  shall  gallop  too  far !  We're  just  at 
the  top  of  the  street  now.  Shall  I  leave  you  here  ?  " 

"  Please  come  on  to  the  cottage," — said  Helmsley — "  I'm 
sure  Mary — Miss  Deane — will  give  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

Angus  Reay  smiled. 

"  I  don't  allow  myself  that  luxury," — he  said. 

"  Not  when  you're  invited  to  share  it  with  others  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  in  that  way  I  do — but  I'm  not  overburdened 
with  friends  just  now.  A  man  must  have  more  than  twenty 
pounds  to  be  '  asked  out '  anywhere !  " 

"  Well,  /  ask  you  out !  " — said  Helmsley,  smiling — "  Or 
rather,  I  ask  you  in.  I'm  sure  Miss  Deane  will  be  glad  to 
talk  to  you.  She  is  very  fond  of  books." 

"  I've  seen  her  just  once  in  the  village," — remarked 
Reay — "  She  seems  to  be  very  much  respected  here.  And 
what  a  beautiful  woman  she  is !  " 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  and  Helmsley's  eyes  lighted  with  pleas- 
ure— "  Well,  I  think  so,  too — but  they  tell  me  that  it's  only 
because  I'm  old,  and  apt  to  see  everyone  beautiful  who  is 
kind  to  me.  There's  a  good  deal  in  that ! — there's  certainly 
a  good  deal  in  that !  " 

They  could  now  see  the  garden  gate  of  Mary's  cottage 
through  the  boughs  of  the  great  chestnut  tree,  which  at 
this  season  was  nearly  stripped  of  all  its  leaves,  and  which 
stood  like  a  lonely  forest  king  with  some  scanty  red  and 
yellow  rags  of  woodland  royalty  about  him,  in  solitary 
grandeur  at  the  bending  summit  of  the  hill.  And  while 
they  were  yet  walking  the  few  steps  which  remained  of  the 
intervening  distance,  Mary  herself  came  out  to  the  gate,  and, 
leaning  one  arm  lightly  across  it,  watched  them  approaching. 
She  wore  a  pale  lilac  print  gown,  high  to  the  neck  and  tidily 
finished  off  by  a  plain  little  muslin  collar  fastened  with  a 
coquettish  knot  of  black  velvet, — her  head  was  uncovered, 
and  the  fitful  gleams  of  the  sinking  sun  shed  a  russet  glow 
on  her  shining  hair  and  reddened  the  pale  clear  transparency 
of  her  skin.  In  that  restful  waiting  attitude,  with  a  smile 
on  her  face,  she  made  a  perfect  picture,  and  Helmsley  stole 
a  side-glance  at  his  companion,  to  see  if  he  seemed  to  be  in 
any  way  impressed  by  her  appearance.  Angus  Reay  was 
certainly  looking  at  her,  but  what  he  thought  could  hardly  be 


236     THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

guessed  by  his  outward  expression.  They  reached  the  gate, 
and  she  opened  it. 

"  I  was  getting  anxious  about  you,  David !  " — she  said ; 
"  you  aren't  quite  strong  enough  to  be  out  in  such  a  cold 
wind."  Then  she  turned  her  eyes  enquiringly  on  Reay,  who 
lifted  his  cap  while  Helmsley  explained  his  presence. 

"  This  is  a  gentleman  who  is  staying  in  the  village — Mr. 
Reay," — he  said — "  He's  been  very  kind  in  helping  me  up  the 
hill — and  I  said  you  would  give  him  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  Why,  of  course !  " — and  Mary  smiled — "  Please  come 
in,  sir !  " 

She  led  the  way,  and  in  another  few  minutes,  all  three  of 
them  were  seated  in  her  little  kitchen  round  the  table  and 
Mary  was  busy  pouring  out  the  tea  and  dispensing  the  usual 
good  things  that  are  always  found  in  the  simplest  Somerset- 
shire cottage, — cream,  preserved  fruit,  scones,  home-made 
bread  and  fresh  butter. 

"  So  you  met  David  on  the  sea-shore?"  she  said,  turning 
her  soft  dark-blue  eyes  enquiringly  on  Reay,  while  gently 
checking  with  one  hand  the  excited  gambols  of  Charlie,  who, 
as  an  epicurean  dog,  always  gave  himself  up  to  the  wildest 
enthusiasms  at  tea-time,  owing  to  his  partiality  for  a  small 
saucer  of  cream  which  came  to  him  at  that  hour — "  I  some- 
times think  he  must  expect  to  pick  up  a  fortune  down  among 
the  shells  and  sea-weed,  he's  so  fond  of  walking  about 
there ! " — And  she  smiled  as  she  put  Helmsley's  cup  of  tea 
before  him,  and  gently  patted  his  wrinkled  hand  in  the 
caressing  fashion  a  daughter  might  show  to  a  father  whose 
health  gave  cause  for  anxiety. 

"  Well,  /  certainly  don't  go  down  to  the  shore  in  any  such 
expectation !  "  said  Reay,  laughing — "  Fortunes  are  not  so 
easily  picked  up,  are  they,  David  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed !  "  replied  Helmsley,  and  his  old  eyes  sparkled 
up  humorously  under  their  cavernous  brows  ;  "  fortunes  take 
some  time  to  make,  and  one  doesn't  meet  millionaires  every 
day !  " 

"  Millionaires !  "  exclaimed  Reay — "  Don't  speak  of  them ! 
I  hate  them !  " 

Helmsley  looked  at  him  stedfastly. 

"  It's  best  not  to  hate  anybody," — he  said — "  Millionaires 
are  often  the  loneliest  and  most  miserable  of  men." 

"  They  deserve  to  be !  "  declared  Reay,  hotly — '"  It  isn't 
right — it  isn't  just  that  two  or  three,  or  let  us  say  four  or 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   237 

five  men  should  be  able  to  control  the  money-markets  of  the 
world.  They  generally  get  their  wealth  through  some  un- 
scrupulous '  deal,'  or  through  '  sweating  '  labour.  I  hate  all 
'  cornering '  systems.  I  believe  in  having  enough  to  live 
upon,  but  not  too  much." 

"  It  depends  on  what  you  call  enough," — said  Helmsley, 
slowly — "  We're  told  that  some  people  never  know  when 
they  have  enough." 

"  Why  this  is  enough ! "  said  Reay,  looking  admiringly 
round  the  little  kitchen  in  which  they  sat — "  This  sweet  lit- 
tle cottage  with  this  oak  raftered  ceiling,  and  all  the  dear 
old-fashioned  crockery,  and  the  ingle-nook  over  there, — who 
on  earth  wants  more  ?  " 

Mary  laughed. 

"  Oh  dear  me !  "  she  murmured,  gently — "  You  praise  it 
too  much ! — it's  only  a  very  poor  place,  sir, — 

He  interrupted  her,  the  colour  rushing  to  his  brows. 

"Please  don't!" 

She  glanced  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Don't— what?" 

"  Don't  call  me  '  sir  '  !  I'm  only  a  poor  chap, — my  father 
was  a  shepherd,  and  I  began  life  as  a  cowherd — I  don't  want 
any  titles  of  courtesy." 

She  still  kept  her  eyes  upon  him  thoughtfully. 

"  But  you're  a  gentleman,  aren't  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  hope  so !  "  And  he  laughed.  "  Just  as  David  is ! 
But  we  neither  of  us  wish  the  fact  emphasised,  do  we, 
David  ?  It  goes  without  saying !  " 

Helmsley  smiled.  This  Angus  Reay  was  a  man  after  his 
own  heart. 

"  Of  course  it  does !  " — he  said — "  In  the  way  you  look 
at  it !  But  you  should  tell  Miss  Deane  all  about  yourself — 
she'll  be  interested." 

"  Would  you  really  care  to  hear  ?  "  enquired  Reay,  sud- 
denly, turning  his  clear  grey  eyes  full  on  Mary's  face. 

"  Why  certainly  I  should !  "  she  answered,  frankly  meeting 
his  glance, — and  then,  from  some  sudden  and  inexplicable 
embarrassment,  she  blushed  crimson,  and  her  eyelids  fell. 
And  Reay  thought  what  a  clear,  healthy  skin  she  had,  and 
how  warmly  the  blood  flowed  under  it. 

"  Well,  after  tea  I'll  hold  forth !  "  he  said—"  But  there 
isn't  much  to  tell.  Such  as  there  is,  you  shall  know,  for  I've 
no  mysteries  about  me.  Some  fellows  love  a  mystery — I 


238      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

cannot  bear  it!  Everything  must  be  fair,  open  and  above 
board  with  me, — else  I  can't  breathe !  Pouf !  "  And  he 
expanded  his  broad  chest  and  took  a  great  gulp  of  air  in  as 
he  spoke — "  I  hate  a  man  who  tries  to  hide  his  own  identity, 
don't  you,  David  ?  " 

"  Yes — yes — certainly !  "  murmured  Helmsley,  absently, 
feigning  to  be  absorbed  in  buttering  a  scone  for  his  own  eat- 
ing— "  It  is  often  very  awkward — for  the  man." 

"  I  always  say,  and  I  always  will  maintain," — went  on 
Reay — "  let  a  man  be  a  man — a  something  or  a  nothing.  If 
he  is  a  criminal,  let  him  say  he  is  a  criminal,  and  not  pretend 
to  be  virtuous — if  he  is  an  atheist,  let  him  say  he  is  an  atheist, 
and  not  pretend  to  be  religious — if  he's  a  beggar  and  can't 
help  himself,  let  him  admit  the  fact — if  he's  a  millionaire, 
don't  let  him  skulk  round  pretending  he's  as  poor  as  Job — al- 
ways let  him  be  himself  and  no  other! — eh? — what  is  it, 
David?" 

For  Helmsley  was  looking  at  him  intently  with  eyes  that 
were  almost  young  in  their  sudden  animation  and  brilliancy. 

"  Did  you  ever  meet  a  millionaire  who  skulked  round  pre- 
tending he  was  as  poor  as  Job  ?  "  he  enquired,  with  a  whim- 
sical air — "/  never  did !  " 

"  Well  no,  I  never  did,  either ! "  And  Reay's  mellow 
laughter  was  so  loud  and  long  that  Mary  was  quite  infected 
by  it,  and  laughed  with  him — "  But  you  see  millionaires  are 
all  marked  men.  Everybody  knows  them.  Their  portraits 
are  in  all  the  newspapers — horrid-looking  rascals  most  of 
them ! — Nature  doesn't  seem  to  endow  them  with  handsome 
features  anyway.  '  Keep  your  gold,  and  never  mind  your 
face,' — she  seems  to  say — Til  take  care  of  that! '  And  she 
does  take  care  of  it !  O  Lord !  The  only  millionaire  I  ever 
saw  in  my  life  was  ugly  enough  to  frighten  a  baby  into 
convulsions !  " 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  "  asked  Helmsley. 

"  Well,  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  tell  his  name  now,  after 
what  I've  said !  "  laughed  Reay — "  Besides,  he  lives  in 
America,  thank  God !  He's  one  of  the  few  who  have  spared 
the  old  country  his  patronage !  " 

Here  a  diversion  was  created  by  the  necessity  of  serving 
the  tiny  but  autocratic  Charlie  with  his  usual  "  dish  of 
cream,"  of  which  he  partook  on  Mary's  knee,  while  listening 
(as  was  evident  from  the  attentive  cocking  of  his  silky  ears) 
to  the  various  compliments  he  was  accustomed  to  receive  on 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   239 

his  beauty.     This  business  over,  they  rose  from  the  tea-- 
table.    The  afternoon  had  darkened  into  twilight,  and  the 
autumnal  wind  was  sighing  through  the  crannies  of  the  door. ' 
Mary  stirred  the  fire  into  a  brighter  blaze,  and  drawing 
Helmsley's  arm-chair  close  to  its  warm  glow,  stood  by  him 
till  he  was  comfortably  seated — then   she   placed  another 
chair  opposite  for  Reay,  and  sat  down  herself  on  a  low 
oaken  settle  between  the  two. 

"  This  is  the  pleasantest  time  of  the  day  just  now," — she 
said — "And  the  best  time  for  talking !  I  love  the  gloaming. 
My  father  loved  it  too." 

"  So  did  my  father !  "  and  Reay's  eyes  softened  as  he  bent 
them  on  the  sparkling  fire — "  In  winter  evenings  when  the 
darkness  fell  down  upon  our  wild  Highland  hills,  he  would 
come  home  to  our  shieling  on  the  edge  of  the  moor,  shaking 
all  the  freshness  of  the  wind  and  the  scent  of  the  dying 
heather  out  of  his  plaid  as  he  threw  it  from  his  shoulders, — 
and  he  would  toss  fresh  peat  on  the  fire  till  it  blazed  red  and 
golden,  and  he  would  lay  his  hand  on  my  head  and  say  to 
me :  '  Come  awa'  bairnie !  Now  for  a  bogle  story  in  the 
gloamin'  ! '  Ah,  those  bogle  stories !  They  are  answerable 
for  a  good  deal  in  my  life!  They  made  me  want  to  write 
bogle  stories  myself !  " 

"And  do  you  write  them  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"  Not  exactly.  Though  perhaps  all  human  life  is  only 
a  bogle  tale !  Invented  to  amuse  the  angels !  " 

She  smiled,  and  taking  up  a  delicate  piece  of  crochet  lace, 
which  she  called  her  "  spare  time  work,"  began  to  ply  the 
glittering  needle  in  and  out  fine  intricacies  of  thread,  her 
shapely  hands  gleaming  like  alabaster  in  the  fire-light  re- 
flections. 

"  Well,  now  tell  us  your  own  bogle  tale !  "  she  said — 
"And  David  and  I  will  play  the  angels !  " 


CHAPTER     XV 

HE  watched  her  working  for  a  few  minutes  before  he  spoke 
again.  And  shading  his  eyes  with  one  hand  from  the  red 
glow  of  the  fire,  David  Helmsley  watched  them  both. 

"  Well,  it's  rather  cool  of  me  to  take  up  your  time  talking 
about  my  own  affairs," — began  Reay,  at  last — "  But  I've 
been  pretty  much  by  myself  for  a  good  while,  and  it's  pleas- 
ant to  have  a  chat  with  friendly  people — man  wasn't  made 
to  live  alone,  you  know !  In  fact,  neither  man  nor  beast  nor 
bird  can  stand  it.  Even  a  sea  cormorant  croaks  to  the 
wind ! " 

Mary  laughed. 

"  But  not  for  company's  sake," — she  said — "  It  croaks 
when  it's  hungry." 

"  Oh,  I've  often  croaked  for  that  reason !  "  and  Reay 
pushed  from  his  forehead  a  wayward  tuft  of  hair  which 
threatened  to  drop  over  his  eye  in  a  thick  silvery  brown 
curl — "  But  it's  wonderful  how  little  a  fellow  can  live  upon 
in  the  way  of  what  is  called  food.  I  know  all  sorts  of 
dodges  wherewith  to  satisfy  the  greedy  cravings  of  the  vul- 
gar part  of  me." 

Helmsley  took  his  hand  from  his  eyes,  and  fixed  a  keenly 
observant  look  upon  the  speaker.  Mary  said  nothing,  but 
her  crochet  needle  moved  more  slowly. 

"  You  see,"  went  on  Reay,  "  I've  always  been  rather  for- 
tunate in  having  had  very  little  to  eat." 

"  You  call  it  '  fortunate  '  ?  "  queried  Helmsley,  abruptly. 

"  Why,  of  course !  I've  never  had  what  the  doctors  call 
an  '  overloaded  system  ' — therefore  I've  no  lading  bill  to  pay. 
The  million  or  so  of  cells  of  which  I  am  composed  are  not  at 
all  anxious  to  throw  any  extra  nourishment  off, — sometimes 
they  intimate  a  strong  desire  to  take  some  extra  nourish- 
ment in — but  that  is  an  uneducated  tendency  in  them  which 
I  sternly  repress.  I  tell  all  those  small  grovelling  cells  that 
extra  nourishment  would  not  be  good  for  them.  And  they 
shrink  back  from  my  moral  reproof  ashamed  of  themselves — 
and  become  wiry  instead  of  fatty.  Which  is  as  it  should  be." 

240 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   241 

"  You're  a  queer  chap ! "  said  Helmsley,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Think  so  ?  Well,  I  daresay  I  am — all  Scotsmen  are. 
There's  always  the  buzzing  of  the  bee  in  our  bonnets.  I 
come  of  an  ancient  Highland  stock  who  were  certainly 
'  queer  '  as  modern  ways  go, — for  they  were  famous  for  their 
pride,  and  still  more  famous  for  their  poverty  all  the  way 
through.  As  far  back  as  I  can  go  in  the  history  of  my 
family,  and  that's  a  pretty  long  way,  we  were  always  at  our 
wit's  end  to  live.  From  the  days  of  the  founder  of  our 
house,  a  glorious  old  chieftain  who  used  to  pillage  his  neigh- 
bour chieftain  in  the  usual  style  of  those  glorious  old  times, 
we  never  had  more  than  just  enough  for  the  bare  necessities 
of  life.  My  father,  as  I  told  you,  was  a  shepherd — a  strong, 
fine-looking  man  over  six  feet  in  height,  and  as  broad- 
chested  as  a  Hercules — he  herded  sheep  on  the  mountains 
for  a  Glasgow  dealer,  as  low-down  a  rascal  as  ever  lived, 
a  man  who,  so  far  as  race  and  lineage  went,  wasn't  fit  to 
scrape  mud  off  my  father's  boots.  But  we  often  see  gentle- 
men of  birth  obliged  to  work  for  knaves  of  cash.  That  was 
the  way  it  was  with  my  father.  As  soon  as  I  was  old  enough 
— about  ten, — I  helped  him  in  his  work — I  used  to  tramp 
backwards  and  forwards  to  school  in  the  nearest  village,  but 
after  school  hours  I  got  an  evening  job  of  a  shilling  a  week 
for  bringing  home  eight  Highland  bull-heifers  from  pasture. 
The  man  who  owned  them  valued  them  highly,  but  was 
afraid  of  them — wouldn't  go  near  them  for  his  life — and 
before  I'd  been  with  them  a  fortnight  they  all  knew  me.  I 
was  only  a  wee  laddie,  but  they  answered  to  my  call  like 
friendly  dogs  rather  than  the  great  powerful  splendid  beasts 
they  were,  with  their  rough  coats  shining  like  floss  silk  in 
the  sunset,  when  I  went  to  drive  them  home,  singing  as  I 
came.  And  my  father  said  to  me  one  night — '  Laddie,  tell 
me  the  truth — are  ye  ever  scared  at  the  bulls ! '  *  No, 
father ! '  said  I — '  It's  a  bonnie  boy  I  am  to  the  bulls ! '  And 
he  laughed — by  Jove ! — how  he  laughed !  '  Ye're  a  wee 
raskell ! '  he  said — '  An'  as  full  o'  conceit  as  an  egg's  full  o' 
meat ! '  I  expect  that  was  true  too,  for  I  always  thought 
well  of  myself.  You  see,  if  I  hadn't  thought  well  of  myself, 
no  one  would  ever  have  thought  well  of  me!" 

'  There's  something  in  that !  "  said  Helmsley,  the  smile 
still  lingering  in  his  eyes — "  Courage  and  self-reliance  have 
often  conquered  more  than  eight  bulls !  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  call  it  either  courage  or  self-reliance — it  was 


242      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

just  that  I  thought  myself  of  too  much  importance  to  be 
hurt  by  bulls  or  anything  else," — and  Angus  laughed, — then 
with  a  sudden  knitting  of  his  brows  as  though  his  thoughts 
were  making  hard  knots  in  his  brain,  he  added — "  Even  as  a 
laddie  I  had  an  idea — and  I  have  it  now — that  there  was 
something  in  me  which  God  had  put  there  for  a  purpose  of 
His  own, — something  that  he  would  not  and  could  not 
destroy  till  His  purpose  had  been  fulfilled !  " 

Mary  stopped  working  and  looked  at  him  earnestly. 
Her  breath  came  and  went  quickly — her  eyes  shone  dewily 
like  stars  in  a  summer  haze, — she  was  deeply  interested. 

"  That  was — and  is — a  conceited  notion,  of  course," — 
went  on  Angus,  reflectively — "And  I  don't  excuse  it.  But 
I'm  not  one  of  the  '  meek  who  shall  inherit  the  earth.'  I'm 
a  robustious  combustious  sort  of  chap — if  a  fellow  knocks 
me  down,  I  jump  up  and  give  it  him  back  with  as  jolly  good 
interest  as  I  can — and  if  anyone  plays  me  a  dirty  trick  I'll 
move  all  the  mental  and  elemental  forces  of  the  universe  to 
expose  him.  That's  my  way — unfortunately " 

"  Why  '  unfortunately  '  ?  "  asked  Helmsley. 

Reay  threw  back  his  head  and  indulged  in  one  of  his  mel- 
low peals  of  laughter. 

"  Can  you  ask  why  ?  Oh  David,  good  old  David ! — it's 
easy  to  see  you  don't  know  much  of  the  world !  If  you  did, 
you'd  realise  that  the  best  way  to  '  get  on '  in  the  usual  way 
of  worldly  progress,  is  to  make  up  to  all  sorts  of  social 
villains  and  double-dyed  millionaire-scoundrels,  find  out  all 
their  tricks  and  their  miserable  little  vices  and  pamper  them, 
David  ! — pamper  them  and  flatter  them  up  to  the  top  of  their 
bent  till  you've  got  them  in  your  power — and  then — then  use 
them — use  them  for  everything  you  want.  For  once  you 
know  what  blackguards  they  are,  they'll  give  you  anything 
not  to  tell !  " 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  that's  true," — murmured 
Mary. 

"  Don't  think  it,  then," — said  Angus — "  You  needn't, — be- 
cause millionaires  are  not  likely  to  come  in  your  way.  Nor 
in  mine — now.  I've  cut  myself  adrift  from  all  chance  of 
ever  meeting  them.  But  only  a  year  ago  I  was  on  the  road 
to  making  a  good  thing  out  of  one  or  two  of  the  so-called 
*  kings  of  finance  ' — then  I  suddenly  took  a  '  scunner  '  as  we 
Scots  say,  at  the  whole  lot,  and  hated  and  despised  myself 
for  ever  so  much  as  thinking  that  it  might  serve  my  own 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   243 

ends  to  become  their  tool.  So  I  just  cast  off  ropes  like  a 
ship,  and  steamed  out  of  harbour." 

"  Into  the  wide  sea ! "  said  Mary,  looking  at  him  with  a 
smile  that  was  lovely  in  its  radiance  and  sympathy. 

"  Into  the  wide  sea — yes !  "  he  answered — "And  sea  that 
was  pretty  rough  at  first.  But  one  can  get  accustomed  to 
anything — even  to  the  high  rock-a-bye  tossing  of  great  bil- 
lows that  really  don't  want  to  put  you  to  sleep  so  much  as  to 
knock  you  to  pieces.  But  I'm  galloping  along  too  fast.  From 
the  time  I  made  friends  with  young  bulls  to  the  time  I  began 
to  scrape  acquaintance  with  newspaper  editors  is  a  far  cry — 
and  in  the  interim  my  father  died.  I  should  have  told  you 
that  I  lost  my  mother  when  I  was  born — and  I  don't  think 
that  the  great  wound  her  death  left  in  my  father's  heart  ever 
really  healed.  He  never  seemed  quite  at  one  with  the  things 
of  Iffe — and  his  '  bogle  tales '  of  which  I  was  so  fond,  all 
turned  on  the  spirits  of  the  dead  coming  again  to  visit  those 
whom  they  had  loved,  and  from  whom  they  had  been  taken 
— and  he  used  to  tell  them  with  such  passionate  conviction 
that  sometimes  I  trembled  and  wondered  if  any  spirit  were 
standing  near  us  in  the  light  of  the  peat  fire,  or  if  the  shriek 
of  the  wind  over  our  sheiling  were  the  cry  of  some  unhappy 
soul  in  torment.  Well !  When  his  time  came,  he  was  not 
allowed  to  suffer — one  day  in  a  great  storm  he  was  struck 
by  lightning  on  the  side  of  the  mountain  where  he  was  herd- 
ing in  his  flocks — and  there  he  was  found  lying  as  though 
he  were  peacefully  asleep.  Death  must  have  been  swift  and 
painless — and  I  always  thank  God  for  that !  "  He  paused  a 
moment — then  went  on — "  When  I  found  myself  quite  alone 
in  the  world,  I  hired  myself  out  to  a  farmer  for  five  years — 
and  worked  faithfully  for  him — worked  so  well  that  he 
raised  my  wages  and  would  willingly  have  kept  me  on — but 
I  had  the  '  bogle  tales '  in  my  head  and  could  not  rest.  It 
was  in  the  days  before  Andrew  Carnegie  started  trying  to 
rub  out  the  memory  of  his  '  Homestead  cruelty  by  planting 
'  free  '  libraries,  (for  which  taxpayers  are  rated)  all  over  the 
country — and  pauperising  Scottish  University  education  by 
grants  of  money — I  suppose  he  is  a  sort  of  little  Pontiff 
unto  himself,  and  thinks  that  money  can  pacify  Heaven,  and 
silence  the  cry  of  brothers'  blood  rising  from  the  Home- 
stead ground.  In  my  boyhood  a  Scottish  University  educa- 
tion had  to  be  earned  by  the  would-be  student  himself — 
earned  by  hard  work,  hard  living,  patience,  perseverance 


244      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

and  grit.  That's  the  one  quality  I  had — grit — and  it  served 
me  well  in  all  I  wanted.  I  entered  at  St.  Andrews — grad- 
uated, and  came  out  an  M.A.  That  helped  to  give  me  my 
first  chance  with  the  press.  But  I'm  sure  I'm  boring  you  by 
all  this  chatter  about  myself !  David,  you  stop  me  when  you 
think  Miss  Deane  has  had  enough !  " 

Helmsley  looked  at  Mary's  figure  in  its  pale  lilac  gown 
touched  here  and  there  by  the  red  sparkle  of  the  fire,  and 
noted  the  attentive  poise  of  her  head,  and  the  passive 
quietude  of  her  generally  busy  hands  which  now  lay  in  her 
lap  loosely  folded  over  her  lace  work. 

"  Have  we  had  enough,  Mary,  do  you  think?  "  he  asked, 
with  the  glimmering  of  a  tender  little  smile  under  his  white 
moustache. 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly  in  a  startled  way,  as  though 
she  had  been  suddenly  wakened  from  a  reverie. 

"  Oh  no !  "  she  answered — "  I  love  to  hear  of  a  brave 
man's  fight  with  the  world — it's  the  finest  story  anyone  can 
listen  to." 

Reay  coloured  like  a  boy. 

"  I'm  not  a  brave  man," — he  said — "  I  hope  I  haven't 
given  you  that  idea.  I'm  an  awful  funk  at  times." 

"  When  are  those  times  ? "  and  Mary  smiled  demurely, 
as  she  put  the  question. 

Again  the  warm  blood  rushed  up  to  his  brows. 

"  Well, — please  don't  laugh !  I'm  afraid — horribly  afraid 
— of  women !  " 

Helmsley's  old  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Upon  my  word !  "  he  exclaimed — "  That's  a  funny  thing 
for  you  to  say !  " 

"  It  is,  rather," — and  Angus  looked  meditatively  into  the 
fire — "  It's  not  that  I'm  bashful,  at  all — no — I'm  quite  the 
other  way,  really, — only — only — ever  since  I  was  a  lad  I've 
made  such  an  ideal  of  woman  that  I'm  afraid  of  her  when  I 
meet  her, — afraid  lest  she  shouldn't  come  up  to  my  ideal,  and 
equally  afraid  lest  I  shouldn't  come  up  to  hers !  It's  all  con- 
ceit again !  Fear  of  anything  or  anybody  is  always  born  of 
self-consciousness.  But  I've  been  disappointed  once " 

"  In  your  ideal  ?  "  questioned  Mary,  raising  her  eyes  and 
letting  them  rest  observantly  upon  his  face. 

''  Yes.  I'll  come  to  that  presently.  I  was  telling  you  how 
I  graduated  at  St.  Andrews,  and  came  out  with  M.A.  tacked 
to  my  name,  but  with  no  other  fortune  than  those  two  letters. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   245 

I  had  made  a  few  friends,  however,  and  one  of  them,  a 
worthy  old  professor,  gave  me  a  letter  of  recommendation 
to  a  man  in  Glasgow,  who  was  the  proprietor  of  one  of  the 
newspapers  there.  He  was  a  warm-hearted,  kindly  fellow, 
and  gave  me  a  berth  at  once.  It  was  hard  work  for  little 
pay,  but  I  got  into  thorough  harness,  and  learnt  all  the  ins 
and  outs  of  journalism.  I  can't  say  that  I  ever  admired  the 
general  mechanism  set  up  for  gulling  the  public,  but  I  had 
to  learn  how  it  was  done,  and  I  set  myself  to  master  the 
whole  business.  I  had  rather  a  happy  time  of  it  in  Glasgow, 
for  though  it's  the  dirtiest,  dingiest  and  most  depressing  city 
in  the  world,  with  its  innumerable  drunkards  and  low  Scoto- 
Irish  ne'er-do-weels  loafing  about  the  streets  on  Saturday 
nights,  it  has  one  great  charm — you  can  get  away  from  it 
into  some  of  the  loveliest  scenery  in  the  world.  All  my 
spare  time  was  spent  in  taking  the  steamer  up  the  Clyde,  and 
sometimes  going  as  far  as  Crinan  and  beyond  it — or  what  I 
loved  best  of  all,  taking  a  trip  to  Arran,  and  there  roaming 
about  the  hills  to  my  heart's  content.  Glorious  Arran !  It 
was  there  I  first  began  to  feel  my  wings  growing !  " 

"  Was  it  a  pleasant  feeling?  "  enquired  Helmsley,  jocosely. 

"Yes — it  was!"  replied  Angus,  clenching  his  right  hand 
and  bringing  it  down  on  his  knee  with  emphasis ;  "  whether 
they  were  goose  wings  or  eagle  wings  didn't  matter — the 
pricking  of  the  budding  quills  was  an  alive  sensation !  The 
mountains,  the  burns,  the  glens,  all  had  something  to  say  to 
me — or  I  thought  they  had — something  new,  vital  and 
urgent.  God  Himself  seemed  to  have  some  great  command 
to  impose  upon  me — and  I  was  ready  to  hear  and  obey.  I 
began  to  write — first  verse — then  prose — and  by  and  by  I  got 
one  or  two  things  accepted  here  and  there — not  very  much, 
but  still  enough  to  fire  me  to  further  endeavours.  Then 
one  summer,  when  I  was  taking  a  holiday  at  a  little  village 
near  Loch  Lomond,  I  got  the  final  dig  of  the  spur  of  fate — I 
fell  in  love." 

Mary  raised  her  eyes  again  and  looked  at  him.  A  slow 
smile  parted  her  lips. 

"And  did  the  girl  fall  in  love  with  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  For  a  time  I  believe  she  did," — said  Reay,  and  there  was 
an  under-tone  of  whimsical  amusement  in  his  voice  as  he 
spoke — "  She  was  spending  the  summer  in  Scotland  with  her 
mother  and  father,  and  there  wasn't  anything  for  her  to  do. 
She  didn't  care  for  scenery  very  much — and  I  just  came  in 


246      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

as  a  sort  of  handy  man  to  amuse  her.  She  was  a  lovely 
creature  in  her  teens, — I  thought  she  was  an  angel — till — till 
I  found  her  out." 

"And  then  ?  "  queried  Helmsley. 

"  Oh  well,  then  of  course  I  was  disillusioned.  When  I 
told  her  that  I  loved  her  more  than  anything  else  in  the 
world,  she  laughed  ever  so  sweetly,  and  said,  '  I'm  sure  you 
do ! '  But  when  I  asked  her  if  she  loved  me,  she  laughed 
again,  and  said  she  didn't  know  what  I  was  talking  about — 
she  didn't  believe  in  love.  '  What  do  you  believe  in  ? '  I 
asked  her.  And  she  looked  at  me  in  the  prettiest  and  most 
innocent  way  possible,  and  said  quite  calmly  and  slowly — 'A 
rich  marriage.'  And  my  heart  gave  a  great  dunt  in  my 
side,  for  I  knew  it  was  all  over.  '  Then  you  won't  marry 
me?' — I  said — '  for  I'm  only  a  poor  journalist.  But  I  mean 
to  be  famous  some  day ! '  '  Do  you  ?  '  she  said,  and  again 
that  little  laugh  of  hers  rippled  out  like  the  tinkle  of  cold 
water — '  Don't  you  think  famous  men  are  very  tiresome  ? 
And  they're  always  dreadfully  poor ! '  Then  I  took  hold  of 
her  hands,  like  the  desperate  fool  I  was,  and  kissed  them, 
and  said,  '  Lucy,  wait  for  me  just  a  few  years !  Wait  for 
me !  You're  so  young ' — for  she  was  only  seventeen,  and 
still  at  school  in  Brighton  somewhere — '  You  can  afford  to 
wait, — give  me  a  chance ! '  And  she  looked  down  at  the 
water — we  were  '  on  the  bonnie  banks  of  Loch  Lomond,'  as 
the  song  says — in  quite  a  picturesque  little  attitude  of  re- 
flection, and  sighed  ever  so  prettily,  and  said — '  I  can't, 
Angus!  You're  very  nice  and  kind! — and  I  like  you  very 
much ! — but  I  am  going  to  marry  a  millionaire ! '  Now  you 
know  why  I  hate  millionaires." 

"  Did  you  say  her  name  was  Lucy  ?  "  asked  Helmsley. 

"  Yes.     Lucy  Sorrel." 

A  bright  flame  leaped  up  in  the  fire  and  showed  all  three 
faces  to  one  another — Mary's  face,  with  its  quietly  absorbed 
expression  of  attentive  interest — Reay's  strongly  moulded 
features,  just  now  somewhat  sternly  shadowed  by  bitter 
memories — and  Helmsley's  thin,  worn,  delicately  intellectual 
countenance,  which  in  the  brilliant  rosy  light  flung  upon  it 
by  the  fire-glow,  was  like  a  fine  waxen  mask,  impenetrable 
in  its  unmoved  austerity  and  calm.  Not  so  much  as  the 
faintest  flicker  of  emotion  crossed  it  at  the  mention  of  the 
name  of  the  woman  he  knew  so  well, — the  surprise  he  felt 
inwardly  was  not  apparent  outwardly,  and  he  heard  the  re- 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN      247, 

mainder  of  Reay's  narration  with  the  most  perfectly  con- 
trolled imperturbability  of  demeanour. 

"  She  told  me  then,"  proceeded  Reay — "  that  her  parents 
had  spent  nearly  all  they  had  upon  her  education,  in  order  to 
fit  her  for  a  position  as  the  wife  of  a  rich  man — and  that  she 
would  have  to  do  her  best  to  '  catch  ' — that's  the  way  she  put 
it — to  '  catch '  this  rich  man  as  soon  as  she  got  a  good  op- 
portunity. He  was  quite  an  old  man,  she  said — old  enough 
to  be  her  grandfather.  And  when  I  asked  her  how  she 
could  reconcile  it  to  her  conscience  to  marry  such  a  hoary- 
headed  rascal " 

Here  Helmsley  interrupted  him. 

"  Was  he  a  hoary-headed  rascal  ?  " 

"  He  must  have  been,"  replied  Angus,  warmly — "  Don't 
you  see  he  must  ?  " 

Helmsley  smiled. 

"  Well — not  exactly !  "  he  submitted,  with  a  gentle  air  of 
deference — "  I  think — perhaps — he  might  deserve  a  little 
pity  for  having  to  be  'caught'  as  you  say  just  for  his 
money's  sake." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  "  declared  Reay — "Any  old  man  who 
would  marry  a  young  girl  like  that  condemns  himself  as  a 
villain.  An  out-an-out,  golden-dusted  villain !  " 

"  But  has  he  married  her  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

Angus  was  rather  taken  aback  at  this  question, — and  rub- 
bed his  forehead  perplexedly. 

"  Well,  no,  he  hasn't — not  yet — not  that  I  know  of,  and 
I've  watched  the  papers  carefully  too.  Such  a  marnage 
couldn't  take  place  without  columns  and  columns  of  twaddle 
about  it — all  the  dressmakers  who  made  gowns  for  the  bi  ide 
would  want  a  mention — and  if  they  paid  for  it  of  course 
they'd  get  it.  No— it  hasn't  come  off  yet — but  it  will.  The. 
venerable  bridegroom  that  is  to  be  has  just  gone  abroad 
somewhere — so  I  see  by  one  of  the  '  Society '  rags, — prob- 
ably to  the  States  to  make  some  more  '  deals  '  in  cash  before 
his  wedding." 

"  You  know  his  name,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes !  Everybody  knows  it,  and  knows  him  too ! 
David  Helmsley 's  too  rich  to  hide  his  light  under  a  bushel ! 
They  call  him  '  King  David  '  in  the  city.  Now  your  name's 
David — but,  by  Jove,  what  a  difference  in  Davids !  "  And 
he  laughed,  adding  quickly — "  I  prefer  the  David  I  see  be- 
fore me  now,  to  the  David  I  never  saw ! " 


248      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Oh !  You  never  saw  the  old  rascal  then  ?  "  murmured 
'Helmsley,  putting  up  one  hand  to  stroke  his  moustache 
slowly  down  over  the  smile  which  he  could  not  repress. 

"  Never — and  don't  want  to !  If  I  become  famous — 
which  I  will  do," — and  here  Angus  set  his  teeth  hard — "  I'll 
make  my  bow  at  one  of  Mrs.  Millionaire  Helmsley's  recep- 
tions one  day !  And  how  will  she  look  then !  " 

"  I  should  say  she  would  look  much  the  same  as  usual," — 
said  Helmsley,  drily — "  If  she  is  the  kind  of  young  woman 
you  describe,  she  is  not  likely  to  be  overcome  by  the  sight  of 
a  merely  '  famous '  man.  You  would  have  to  be  twice  or 
three  times  as  wealthy  as  herself  to  move  her  to  any  sense 
of  respect  for  you.  That  is,  if  we  are  to  judge  by  what  our 
newspapers  tell  us  of  '  society '  people.  The  newspapers  are 
all  we  poor  folk  have  got  to  go  by." 

"  Yes — I've  often  thought  of  that !  "  and  Angus  rubbed 
his  forehead  again  in  a  vigorous  way  as  though  he  were 
trying  to  rub  ideas  out  of  it — "And  I've  pitied  the  poor  folks 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart!  They  get  pretty  often  mis- 
led— and  on  serious  matters  too." 

"  Oh,  we're  not  all  such  fools  as  we  seem," — said  Helms- 
ley — "  We  can  read  between  the  lines  as  well  as  anyone — and 
we  understand  pretty  clearly  that  it's  only  money  which 
'  makes  '  the  news.  We  read  of  '  society  ladies  '  doing  this, 
that  and  t'  other  thing,  and  we  laugh  at  their  doings — and 
when  we  read  of  a  great  lady  conducting  herself  like  an  out- 
cast, we  feel  a  contempt  for  her  such  as  we  never  visit  on  her 
poor  sister  of  the  streets.  The  newspapers  may  praise  these 
women,  but  we  *  common  people '  estimate  them  at  their  true 
worth — and  that  is — nothing!  Now  the  girl  you  made  an 
ideal  of " 

"  She  was  to  be  bought  and  sold," — interrupted  Reay ; 
"  I  know  that  now.  But  I  didn't  know  it  then.  She  looked 
a  sweet  innocent  angel, — with  a  pretty  face  and  beautiful 
eyes — just  the  kind  of  creature  we  men  fall  in  love  with  at 
first  sight " 

"  The  kind  of  creature  who,  if  you  had  married  her,  would 
have  made  you  wretched  for  life," — said  Helmsley.  "  Be 
thankful  you  escaped  her !  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  thankful  enough  now !  "  and  Reay  pushed  back 
his  rebellious  lock  of  hair  again — "  For  when  one  has  a 
great  ambition  in  view,  freedom  is  better  than  love " 

Helmsley  raised  his  wrinkled,  trembling  hand. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   249 

"  No,  don't  say  that !  "  he  murmured,  gently — "  Nothing 
— nothing  in  all  the  world  is  better  than  love !  " 

Involuntarily  his  eyes  turned  towards  Mary  with  a  strange 
wistfulness.  There  was  an  unspoken  yearning  in  his  face 
that  was  almost  pain.  Her  quick  instinctive  sympathy  re- 
sponded to  his  thought,  and  rising,  she  went  to  him  on  the 
pretext  of  re-arranging  the  cushion  in  his  chair,  so  that  he 
might  lean  back  more  comfortably.  Then  she  took  his  hand 
and  patted  it  kindly. 

"  You're  a  sentimental  old  boy,  aren't  you,  David !  "  she 
said,  playfully — "  You  like  being  taken  care  of  and  fussed 
over!  Of  course  you  do!  Was  there  ever  a  man  that 
didn't!" 

He  was  silent,  but  he  pressed  her  paressing  hand  grate- 
fully. 

"  No  one  has  ever  taken  care  of  or  fussed  over  me"  said 
Reay — "  I  should  rather  like  to  try  the  experiment !  " 

Mary  laughed  good-humouredly. 

M  You  must  find  yourself  a  wife," — she  said — "And  then 
you'll  see  how  you  like  it." 

"  But  wives  don't  make  any  fuss  over  their  husbands  it 
seems  to  me,"  replied  Reay — "At  any  rate  in  London,  where 
I  have  lived  for  the  past  five  years — husbands  seem  to  be 
the  last  persons  in  the  world  whom  their  wives  consider.  I 
don't  think  I  shall  ever  marry." 

"  I'm  sure  /  shan't," — said  Mary,  smiling — and  as  she 
spoke,  she  bent  over  the  fire,  and  threw  a  fresh  log  of  wood 
on  to  keep  up  the  bright  glow  which  was  all  that  illuminated 
the  room,  from  which  almost  every  pale  glimmer  of  the 
twilight  had  now  departed — "  I'm  an  old  maid.  But  I  was 
an  engaged  girl  once !  " 

Helmsley  lifted  up  his  head  with  sudden  and  animated 
interest. 

"Were  you,  Mary?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  And  the  smile  deepened  round  her  expres- 
sive mouth  and  played  softly  in  her  eyes — "  Yes,  David, 
really!  I  was  engaged  to  a  very  good-looking  young  man 
in  the  electrical  engineering  business.  And  I  was  very  fond 
of  him.  But  when  my  father  lost  every  penny,  my  good- 
looking  young  man  went  too.  He  said  he  couldn't  possibly 
marry  a  girl  with  nothing  but  the  clothes  on  her  back.  I 
cried  very  much  at  the  time,  and  thought  my  heart  was 
broken.  But — it  wasn't  I  " 


250     THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  I  should  hope  it  wouldn't  break  for  such  a  selfish 
rascal !  "  said  Reay,  warmly. 

"  Do  you  think  he  was  more  selfish  than  most  ?  "  queried 
Mary,  thoughtfully — "  There's  a  good  many  who  would  do 
as  he  did." 

A  silence  followed.     She  sat  down  and  resumed  her  work. 

"  Have  you  finished  your  story  ?  "  she  asked  Reay — "  It 
has  interested  me  so  much  that  I'm  hoping  there's  some  more 
to  tell." 

As  she  spoke  to  him  he  started  as  if  from  a  dream.  He 
had  been  watching  her  so  earnestly  that  he  had  almost  for- 
gotten what  he  had  previously  been  talking  about.  He 
found  himself  studying  the  beautiful  outline  of  her  figure, 
and  wondering  why  he  had  never  before  seen  such  gracious 
curves  of  neck  and  shoulder,  waist  and  bosom  as  gave 
symmetrical  perfection  of  shape  to  this  simple  woman  born 
of  the  "  common  "  people. 

"  More  to  tell  ?  "  he  echoed,  hastily, — "  Well,  there's  a 
little — but  not  much.  My  love  affair  at  Loch  Lomond  did 
one  thing  for  me, — it  made  me  work  hard.  I  had  a  sort  of 
desperate  idea  that  I  might  wrest  a  fortune  out  of  journal- 
ism by  dint  of  sheer  grinding  at  it — but  I  soon  found  out  my 
mistake  there.  I  toiled  away  so  steadily  and  got  such  a 
firm  hold  of  all  the  affairs  of  the  newspaper  office  where  I 
was  employed,  that  one  fine  morning  I  was  dismissed.  My 
proprietor,  genial  and  kindly  as  ever,  said  he  found  *  no 
fault ' — but  that  he  wanted  *  a  change.'  I  quite  understood 
that.  The  fact  is  I  knew  too  much — that's  all.  I  had  saved 
a  bit,  and  so,  with  a  few  good  letters  of  introduction,  went 
on  from  Glasgow  to  London.  There,  in  that  great  black 
ant-hill  full  of  crawling  sooty  human  life,  I  knocked  about 
for  a  time  from  one  newspaper  office  to  another,  doing  any 
sort  of  work  that  turned  up,  just  to  keep  body  and  soul  to- 
gether,— and  at  last  I  got  a  fairly  good  berth  in  the  London 
branch  of  a  big  press  syndicate.  It  was  composed  of  three 
or  four  proprietors,  ever  so  many  editors,  and  an  army  of 
shareholders  representing  almost  every  class  in  Great 
Britain.  Ah,  those  shareholders!  There's  the  whole  mis- 
chief of  the  press  nowadays !  " 

"  I  suppose  it's  money  again !  "  said  Helmsley. 

"  Of  course  it  is.  Here's  how  the  matter  stands.  A 
newspaper  syndicate  is  like  any  other  trading  company, 
composed  for  the  sole  end  and  object  of  making  as  much 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   251 

profit  out  of  the  public  as  possible.  The  lion's  portion 
naturally  goes  to  the  heads  of  the  concern — then  come  the 
shareholders'  dividends.  The  actual  workers  in  the  busi- 
ness, such  as  the  '  editors/  are  paid  as  little  as  their  self- 
respect  will  allow  them  to  take,  and  as  for  the  other  fellows 
under  the  editors — well ! — you  can  just  imagine  they  get 
much  less  than  the  little  their  self-respect  would  claim,  if 
they  were  not,  most  of  them,  so  desperately  poor,  and  so 
anxious  for  a  foothold  somewhere  as  to  be  ready  to  take 
anything.  I  took  the  first  chance  I  could  get,  and  hung 
on  to  it,  not  for  the  wretched  pay,  but  for  the  experience, 
and  for  the  insight  it  gave  me  into  men  and  things.  I  wit- 
nessed the  whole  business ; — the  '  doctoring  up  '  of  social 
scandals, — the  tampering  with  the  news  in  order  that  cer- 
tain items  might  not  affect  certain  shares  on  the  Stock 
Exchange, — the  way  '  discussions  *  of  the  most  idiotic  kind 
were  started  in  the  office  just  to  fill  up  space,  such  as  what 
was  best  to  make  the  hair  grow ;  what  a  baby  ought  to 
weigh  at  six  months ;  what  food  authors  write  best  on ;  and 
whether  modern  girls  make  as  good  wives  as  their  mothers 
did,  and  so  on.  These  things  were  generally  got  up  by  '  the 
fool  of  the  office  '  as  we  called  him — a  man  with  a  perpetual 
grin  and  an  undyingly  good  opinion  of  himself.  He  was 
always  put  into  harness  when  for  some  state  or  financial 
reason  the  actual  facts  had  to  be  euphonised  or  even  sup- 
pressed and  the  public  '  let  down  gently.'  For  a  time  I  was 
drafted  off  on  the  '  social '  business — ugh  ? — how  I  hated 
it?" 

"  What  did  you  have  to  do  ?  "  asked  Mary,  amused. 

"  Oh,  I  had  to  deal  with  a  motley  crowd  of  court  flun- 
keys, Jews,  tailors  and  dressmakers,  and  fearful-looking 
women  catering  for  '  fashion,'  who  came  with  what  they 
called  '  news,'  which  was  generally  that  '  Mrs.  "  Bunny  " 
Bumpkin  looked  sweet  in  grey ' — or  that  '  Miss  "  Toby  " 
Tosspot  was  among  the  loveliest  of  the  debutantes  at 
Court.'  Sometimes  a  son  of  Israel  came  along,  all  in  a 
mortal  funk,  and  said  he  '  didn't  want  it  mentioned '  that 
Mrs.  So-and-So  had  dined  with  him  at  a  certain  public 
restaurant  last  night.  Generally,  he  was  a  shareholder,  and 
his  orders  had  to  be  obeyed.  The  shareholders  in  fact 
had  most  to  do  with  the  '  society  '  news, — and  they  bored 
me  nearly  to  death.  The  trifles  they  wanted  '  mentioned ' 
were  innumerable — the  other  trifles  they  didn't  want  men- 


252      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

tioned,  were  quite  as  endless.  One  day  there  was  a  regu- 
lar row — a  sort  of  earthquake  in  the  place.  Somebody  had 
presumed  to  mention  that  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Mushroom 
Ketchup  had  smoked  several  cigarettes  with  infinite  gusto 
at  a  certain  garden  party, — now  what  are  you  laughing  at, 
Miss  Deane  ?  " 

"  At  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Mushroom  Ketchup !  "  and  Mary's 
clear  laughter  rippled  out  in  a  silvery  peal  of  purest  merri- 
ment— "  That's  not  her  name  surely !  " 

"  Oh  no,  that's  not  her  name !  "  and  Angus  laughed  too 
— "  It  wouldn't  do  to  give  her  real  name ! — but  Ketchup's 
quite  as  good  and  high-sounding  as  the  one  she's  got. 
And  as  I  tell  you,  the  whole  '  staff '  was  convulsed.  Three 
shareholders  came  down  post  haste  to  the  office — one  at 
full  speed  in  a  motor, — and  said  how  dare  I  mention  Mrs. 
Mushroom  Ketchup  at  all?  It  was  like  my  presumption 
to  notice  that  she  had  smoked !  Mrs.  Mushroom  Ketchup's 
name  must  be  kept  out  of  the  papers — she  was  a  '  lady ' ! 
Oh,  by  Jove! — how  I  laughed! — I  couldn't  help  myself! 
I  just  roared  with  laughter  in  the  very  faces  of  those  share- 
holders !  '  A  lady ! '  said  I—'  Why,  she's '  But  I  wasn't 

allowed  to  say  what  she  was,  for  the  shareholder  who  had 
arrived  in  the  motor,  fixed  a  deadly  glance  upon  me  and 
said — '  If  you  value  your  po-seetion ' — he  was  a  Lowland 
Scot,  with  the  Lowland  accent — '  if  you  value  your  po-see- 
tion on  this  paper,  you'll  hold  your  tongue ! '  So  I  did 
hold  my  tongue  then — but  only  because  I  meant  to  wag  it 
more  violently  afterwards.  I  always  devote  Mrs.  Mushroom 
Ketchup  to  the  blue  blazes,  because  I'm  sure  it  was  through 
her  I  lost  my  post.  You  see  a  shareholder  in  a  paper  has 
a  good  deal  of  influence,  especially  if  he  has  as  much  as  a 
hundred  thousand  shares.  You'd  be  surprised  if  I  told  you 
the  real  names  of  some  of  the  fellows  who  control  newspa- 
per syndicates ! — you  wouldn't  believe  it !  Or  at  any  rate, 
if  you  did  believe  it,  you'd  never  believe  the  newspapers !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  them  now," — said  Helmsley — "  They 
say  one  thing  to-day  and  contradict  it  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  but  that's  like  all  news !  "  said  Mary,  placidly — 
"  Even  in  our  little  village  here,  you  never  know  quite  what 
to  believe.  One  morning  you  are  told  that  Mrs.  Badge's 
baby  has  fallen  downstairs  and  broken  its  neck,  and  you've 
scarcely  done  being  sorry  for  Mrs.  Badge,  when  in  comes 
Mrs.  Badge  herself,  baby  and  all,  quite  well  and  smiling, 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   253 

and  she  says  she  '  never  did  hear  such  tales  as  there  are 
in  Wiercombe ' !  " 

They  all  laughed. 

"  Well,  there's  the  end  of  my  story," — said  Angus — "  I 
worked  on  the  syndicate  for  two  years,  and  then  was  given 
the  sack.  The  cause  of  my  dismissal  was,  as  I  told  you,  that 
I  published  a  leading  article  exposing  a  mean  and  dirty 
financial  trick  on  the  part  of  a  man  who  publicly  assumed 
to  be  a  world's  benefactor — and  he  turned  out  to  be  a 
shareholder  in  the  paper  under  an  '  alias.'  There  was  no 
hope  for  me  after  that — it  was  a  worse  affair  than  that 
of  Mrs.  Mushroom  Ketchup.  So  I  marched  out  of  the 
office,  and  out  of  London — I  meant  to  make  for  Exmoor, 
which  is  wild  and  solitary,  because  I  thought  I  might 
find  some  cheap  room  in  a  cottage  there,  where  I  might  live 
quietly  on  almost  nothing  and  write  my  book — but  I  stum- 
bled by  chance  on  this  place  instead — and  I  rather  like  being 
so  close  to  the  sea. 

"  You  are  writing  a  book  ?  "  said  Mary,  her  eyes  rest- 
ing upon  him  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes.  I've  got  a  room  in  the  village  for  half-a-crown 
a  week  and  '  board  myself '  as  the  good  woman  of  the 
house  says.  And  I'm  perfectly  happy !  " 

A  long  pause  followed.  The  fire  was  dying  down  from 
a  flame  to  a  dull  red  glow,  and  a  rush  of  wind  against  the 
kitchen  window  was  accompanied  by  the  light  pattering  of 
rain.  Angus  Reay  rose. 

"  I  must  be  going," — he  said — "  I've  made  you  quite  a 
visitation !  Old  David  is  nearly  asleep !  " 

Helmsley  looked  up. 

"  Not  I !  "  and  he  smiled — "  I'm  very  wide  awake :  I 
like  your  story,  and  I  like  you!  Perhaps  you'll  come  in 
again  sometimes  and  have  a  chat  with  us  ?  " 

Reay  glanced  enquiringly  at  Mary,  who  had  also  risen 
from  her  chair,  and  was  now  lighting  the  lamp  on  the 
table. 

"  May  I  ?  "  he  asked  hesitatingly. 

"  Why,  of  course ! "  And  her  eyes  met  his  with  hospit- 
able frankness — "  Come  whenever  you  feel  lonely !  " 

"  I  often  do  that !  "  he  said. 

"  All  the  better ! — then  we  shall  often  see  you !  " — she 
answered — "  And  you'll  always  be  welcome !  " 

"  Thank-you  1     I  believe  you  mean  it !  " 


25*     THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Mary  smiled. 

"  Why  of  course  I  do !    I'm  not  a  newspaper  syndicate !  " 

"  Nor  a  Mrs.   Mushroom  Ketchup ! "  put  in  Helmsley. 

Angus  threw  back  his  head  and  gave  one  of  his  big  joy- 
ous laughs. 

"  No !  You're  a  long  way  off  that !  "  he  said — "  Good- 
evening,  David !  " 

And  going  up  to  the  arm-chair  where  Helmsley  sat  he 
shook  hands  with  him. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Reay !  "  rejoined  Helmsley,  cheerily ; 
"  I'm  very  glad  we  met  this  afternoon !  " 

"  So  am  I !  "  declared  Angus,  with  energy — "  I  don't 
feel  quite  so  much  of  a  solitary  bear  as  I  did.  I'm  in  a 
better  temper  altogether  with  the  world  in  general ! " 

"  That's  right !  "  said  Mary — "  Whatever  happens  to  you 
it's  never  the  fault  of  the  world,  remember! — it's  only  the 
trying  little  ways  of  the  people  in  it ! " 

She  held  out  her  hand  in  farewell,  and  he  pressed  it 
gently.  Then  he  threw  on  his  cap,  and  she  opened  her 
cottage  door  for  him  to  pass  out.  A  soft  shower  of  rain 
blew  full  in  their  faces  as  they  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"  You'll  get  wet,  I'm  afraid !  "  said  Mary. 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing !  "  And  he  buttoned  his  coat  across 
his  chest — "  What's  that  lovely  scent  in  the  garden  here, 
just  close  to  the  door?" 

"  It's  the  old  sweet-briar  bush," — she  replied — "  It  lasts 
in  leaf  till  nearly  Christmas  and  always  smells  so  delicious. 
Shall  I  give  you  a  bit  of  it  ?  " 

"  It's  too  dark  to  find  it  now,  surely !  "  said  Angus. 

"  Oh,  no !    I  can  feel  it !  " 

And  stretching  out  her  white  hand  into  the  raining  dark- 
ness, she  brought  it  back  holding  a  delicate  spray  of  odorous 
leaves. 

"  Isn't  it  sweet  ?  "  she  said,  as  she  gave  it  to  him. 

"  It  is  indeed !  "  he  placed  the  little  sprig  in  his  button- 
hole. "  Thank-you !  Good-night !  " 

"Good-night!" 

He  lifted  his  hat  and  smiled  into  her  eyes — then  walked 
quickly  through  the  tiny  garden,  opened  the  gate,  shut  it 
carefully  behind  him,  and  disappeared.  Mary  listened  for 
a  moment  to  the  swish  of  the  falling  rain  among  the  leaves, 
and  the  noise  of  the  tumbling  hill-torrent  over  its  stony  bed. 
Then  she  closed  and  barred  the  door. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   255 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  wet  night,  David ! "  she  said,  as  she 
came  back  towards  the  fire — "  And  a  bit  rough,  too,  by  the 
sound  of  the  sea." 

He  did  not  answer  immediately,  but  watched  her  atten- 
tively as  she  made  up  the  fire,  and  cleared  the  table  of  the 
tea  things,  packing  up  the  cups  and  plates  and  saucers  in 
the  neat  and  noiseless  manner  which  was  particularly  her 
own,  preparatory  to  carrying  them  all  on  a  tray  out  to 
the  little  scullery  adjoining  the  kitchen,  which  with  its 
well  polished  saucepans,  kettles,  and  crockery  was  quite  a 
smart  feature  of  her  small  establishment.  Then — 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him,  Mary  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

"Of  Mr.  Reay?" 

"  Yes." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  looking  intently  at  a  small  crack 
in  one  of  the  plates  she  was  putting  by. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  David ! — it's  rather  difficult  to  say 
on  such  a  short  acquaintance — but  he  seems  to  me  quite 
a  good  fellow." 

"  Quite  a  good  fellow,  yes ! "  repeated  Helmsley,  nodding 
gravely — "  That's  how  he  seems  to  me,  too." 

"  I  think," — went  on  Mary,  slowly — "  that  he's  a  thor- 
oughly manly  man, — don't  you  ?  " 

He  nodded  gravely  again,   and  echoed  her  words 

"  A  thoroughly  manly  man !  " 

"  And  perhaps,"  she  continued — "  it  would  be  pleasant 
for  you,  David,  to  have  a  chat  with  him  now  and  then  espe- 
cially in  the  long  winter  evenings — wouldn't  it  ?  " 

She  had  moved  to  his  side,  and  now  stood  looking  down 
upon  him  with  such  a  wistful  sweetness  of  expression, 
that  he  was  content  to  merely  watch  her,  without  answer- 
ing her  question. 

"  Because  those  long  winter  evenings  are  sometimes  very 
dull,  you  know ! "  she  went  on — "  And  I'm  afraid  I'm  not 
very  good  company  when  I'm  at  work  mending  the  lace — 
I  have  to  take  all  my  stitches  so  carefully  that  I  dare  not 
talk  must  lest  I  make  a  false  knot." 

He  smiled. 

"  You  make  a  false  knot !  "  he  said — "  You  couldn't  do 
it,  if  you  tried !  You'll  never  make  a  false  knot — never !  " 
— and  his  voice  sank  to  an  almost  inaudible  murmur — 
"  Neither  in  your  lace  nor  in  your  life !  " 

She  looked  at  him  a  little  anxiously. 


256      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"Are  you  tired,  David?" 

"  No,  my  dear !     Not  .tired — only  thinking !  " 

"  Well,  you  mustn't  think  too  much," — she  said — "  Think- 
ing is  weary  work,  sometimes !  " 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her  steadily. 

"  Mr.  Reay  was  very  frank  and  open  in  telling  us  all 
about  himself,  wasn't  he,  Mary?" 

"  Oh  yes !  "  and  she  laughed — "  But  I  think  he  is  one 
of  those  men  who  couldn't  possibly  be  anything  else  but 
frank  and  open." 

"Oh,  you  do?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Don't  you  sometimes  wonder," — went  on  Helmsley 
slowly,  keeping  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  fire — "  why  /  haven't 
told  you  all  about  myself  ?  " 

She  met  his  eyes  with  a  candid  smile. 

"  No — I  haven't  thought  about  it !  "  she  said. 

"  Why  haven't  you  thought  about  it  ?  "  he  persisted. 

She  laughed  outright. 

"  Simply  because  I  haven't !    That's  all !  " 

"  Mary," — he  said,  seriously — "  You  know  I  was  not 
your  '  father's  friend ' !  You  know  I  never  saw  your 
father!" 

The  smile  still  lingered  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes— I  know  that!" 

"  And  yet  you  never  ask  me  to  give  an  account  of  my- 
self!" 

She  thought  he  was  worrying  his  mind  needlessly,  and 
bending  over  him  took  his  hand  in  hers. 

"  No,  David,  I  never  ask  impertfnent  questions !  "  she  said 
— "  I  don't  want  to  know  anything  more  about  you  than 
you  choose  to  tell.  You  seem  to  me  like  my  dear  father 
— not  quite  so  strong  as  he  was,  perhaps — but  I  have 
taken  care  of  you  for  so  many  weeks,  that  I  almost  feel  as 
if  you  belonged  to  me!  And  I  want  to  take  care  of  you 
still,  because  I  know  you  must  be  taken  care  of.  And  I'm 
so  well  accustomed  to  you  now  that  I  shouldn't  like  to 
lose  you,  David — I  shouldn't  really!  Because  you've 
been  so  patient  and  gentle  and  grateful  for  the  little 
I  have  been  able  to  do  for  you,  that  I've  got  fond  of  you, 
David!  Yes! — actually  fond  of  you!  What  do  you  say 
to  that?" 

"  Say  to  it ! "  he  murmured,  pressing  the  hand  he  held. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   257 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  it,  Mary ! — except — God 
bless  you ! " 

She  was  silent  a  minute — then  she  went  on  in  a  cheerfully 
rallying  tone — 

"  So  I  don't  want  to  know  anything  about  you,  you  see ! 
Now,  as  to  Mr.  Reay " 

"  Ah,  yes ! "  and  Helmsley  gave  her  a  quick  observant 
glance  which  she  herself  did  not  notice — "  What  about 
Mr.  Reay?" 

"  Well  it  would  be  nice  if  we  could  cheer  him  up  a 
little  and  make  him  bear  his  poor  and  lonely  life  more 
easily.  Wouldn't  it?" 

"  Cheer  him  up  a  little  and  make  him  bear  his  poor  and 
lonely  life  more  easily ! "  repeated  Helmsley,  slowly,  "  Yes. 
And  do  you  think  we  can  do  that,  Mary  ?  " 

"  We  can  try !  "  she  said,  smiling — "  At  any  rate,  while 
he's  living  in  Wiercombe,  we  can  be  friendly  to  him,  and 
give  him  a  bit  of  dinner  now  and  then !  " 

"  So  we  can !  "  agreed  Helmsley — "  Or  rather,  so  you 
can !  " 

"  We ! "  corrected  Mary — "  You're  helping  me  to  keep 
house  now,  David, — remember  that !  " 

"  Why  I  haven't  paid  half  or  a  quarter  of  my  debt  to  you 
yet !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  But  you're  paying  it  off  every  day," — she  answered ; 
"  Don't  you  fear !  I  mean  to  have  every  penny  out  of  you 
that  I  can !  " 

She  laughed  gaily,  and  taking  up  the  tray  upon  which  she 
had  packed  all  the  tea-things,  carried  it  out  of  the  kitchen. 
Helmsley  heard  her  singing  softly  to  herself  in  the  scullery, 
as  she  set  to  work  to  wash  the  cups  and  saucers.  And 
bending  his  old  eyes  on  the  fire,  he  smiled, — and  an  in- 
domitable expression  of  energetic  resolve  strengthened  every 
line  of  his  features. 

"  You  mean  to  have  every  penny  out  of  me  that  you 
can,  my  dear,  do  you !  "  he  said,  softly — "  And  so — if  Love 
can  find  out  the  way — you  will !  " 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE  winter  now  closed  in  apace, — and  though  the  foliage 
all  about  Weircombe  was  reluctant  to  fall,  and  kept  its 
green,  russet  and  gold  tints  well  on  into  December,  the 
high  gales  which  blew  in  from  the  sea  played  havoc  with 
the  trembling  leaves  at  last  and  brought  them  to  the  ground 
like  the  painted  fragments  of  Summer's  ruined  temple. 
All  the  fishermen's  boats  were  hauled  up  high  and  dry, 
and  great  stretches  of  coarse  net  like  black  webs,  were 
spread  out  on  the  beach  for  drying  and  mending, — while 
through  the  tunnels  scooped  out  of  the  tall  castellated  rocks 
which  guarded  either  side  of  the  little  port,  or  "  weir,"  the 
great  billows  dashed  with  a  thunderous  roar  of  melody, 
oftentimes  throwing  aloft  fountains  of  spray  well-nigh  a 
hundred  feet  in  height — spray  which  the  wild  wind  caught 
and  blew  in  pellets  of  salty  foam  far  up  the  little  village 
street.  Helmsley  was  now  kept  a  prisoner  indoors, — he 
had  not  sufficient  strength  to  buffet  with  a  gale,  or  to 
stand  any  unusually  sharp  nip  of  cold, — so  he  remained 
very  comfortably  by  the  side  of  the  fire,  making  baskets, 
which  he  was  now  able  to  turn  out  quickly  with  quite  an 
admirable  finish,  owing  to  the  zeal  and  earnestness  with 
which  he  set  himself  to  the  work.  Mary's  business  in  the 
winter  months  was  entirely  confined  to  the  lace-mending — 
she  had  no  fine  laundry  work  to  do,  and  her  time  was  passed 
in  such  household  duties  as  kept  her  little  cottage  sweet 
and  clean,  in  attentive  guardianship  and  care  of  her 
"  father's  friend  " — and  in  the  delicate  weaving  of  threads 
whereby  the  fine  fabric  which  had  once  perchance  been  dam- 
aged and  spoilt  by  flaunting  pride,  was  made  whole  and 
beautiful  again  by  simple  patience.  Helmsley  was  never 
tired  of  watching  her.  Whether  she  knelt  down  with  a  pail 
of  suds,  and  scrubbed  her  cottage  doorstep — or  whether 
she  sat  quietly  opposite  to  him,  with  the  small  "  Charlie  " 
snuggled  on  a  rug  between  them,  while  she  mended  her  lace, 
his  eyes  always  rested  upon  her  with  deepening  interest  and 
tenderness.  And  he  grew  daily  more  conscious  of  a  great 
peace  and  happiness — peace  and  happiness  such  as  he  had 

258 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   259 

never  known  since  his  boyhood's  days.  He,  who  had  found 
the  ways  of  modern  society  dull  to  the  last  point  of  ex- 
cruciating boredom,  was  not  aware  of  any  monotony  in 
the  daily  round  of  the  hours,  which,  laden  with  simple 
duties  and  pleasures,  came  and  went  softly  and  slowly  like 
angel  messengers  stepping  gently  from  one  heaven  to  an- 
other. The  world — or  that  which  is  called  the  world, — 
had  receded  from  him  altogether.  Here,  where  he  had 
found  a  shelter,  there  was  no  talk  of  finance — the  claims 
of  the  perpetual  "  bridge "  party  had  vanished  like  the 
misty  confusion  of  a  bad  dream  from  the  brain — the  unut- 
terably vulgar  intrigues  common  to  the  so-called  "  better  " 
class  of  twentieth  century  humanity  could  not  intrude  any 
claim  on  his  attention  or  his  time — the  perpetual  lending 
of  money  to  perpetually  dishonest  borrowers  was,  for  the 
present,  a  finished  task — and  he  felt  himself  to  be  a  free 
man — far  freer  than  he  had  been  for  many  years.  And, 
to  add  to  the  interest  of  his  days,  he  became  engrossed  in 
a  scheme — a  strange  scheme  which  built  itself  up  in  his 
head  like  a  fairy  palace,  wherein  everything  beautiful,  grace- 
ful, noble,  helpful  and  precious,  found  place  and  position, 
and  grew  from  promise  to  fulfilment  as  easily  as  a  perfect 
rosebud  ripens  to  a  perfect  rose.  But  he  said  nothing  of 
his  thoughts.  He  hugged  them,  as  it  were,  to  himself,  and 
toyed  with  them  as  though  they  were  jewels, — precious 
jewels  selected  specially  to  be  set  in  a  crown  of  inestimable 
worth.  Meanwhile  his  health  kept  fairly  equable,  though 
he  was  well  aware  within  his  own  consciousness  that  he  did 
not  get  stronger.  But  he  was  strong  enough  to  be  merry 
at  times — and  his  kindly  temper  and  cheery  conversation 
made  him  a  great  favourite  with  the  Weircombe  folk,  who 
were  never  tired  of  "  looking  in  "  as  they  termed  it,  on 
Mary,  and  "  'avin'  a  bit  of  a  jaw  with  old  David." 

Sociable  evenings  they  had  too,  during  that  winter — 
evenings  when  Angus  Reay  came  in  to  tea  and  stayed  to 
supper,  and  after  supper  entertained  them  by  singing  in 
a  deep  baritone  voice  as  soft  as  honey,  the  old  Scotch 
songs  now  so  hopelessly  "  out  of  fashion  " — such  as  "  My 
Nannie  O  "-  •"  Ae  fond  kiss  "—and  "  Highland  Mary,"  in 
which  last  exquisite  ballad  he  was  always  at  his  best.  And 
Mary  sang  also,  accompanying  herself  on  a  quaint  old 
Hungarian  zither,  which  she  said  had  been  left  with  her 
father  as  guarantee  for  ten  shillings  which  he  had  lent 


260     THE     TREASURE    OF    HEAVEN 

to  a  street  musician  wandering  about  Barnstaple.  The 
street  musician  disappeared  and  the  ten  shillings  were  never 
returned,  so  Mary  took  possession  of  the  zither,  and  with 
the  aid  of  a  cheap  instruction  book,  managed  to  learn  enough 
of  its  somewhat  puzzling  technique  to  accompany  her  own 
voice  with  a  few  full,  rich,  plaintive  chords.  And  it  was 
in  this  fashion  that  Angus  heard  her  first  sing  what  she 
called  "  A  song  of  the  sea,"  running  thus : 

I  heard  the  sea  cry  out  in  the  night 

Like  a  fretful  child — 
Moaning  under  the  pale  moonlight 

In  a  passion  wild — 

And  my  heart  cried  out  with  the  sea,  in  tears, 
For  the  sweet  lost  joys  of  my  vanished  years! 

I  heard  the  sea  laugh  out  in  the  noon 

Like  a  girl  at  play — 
All  forgot  was  the  mournful  moon 

In  the  dawn  of  day! 

And  my  heart  laughed  out  with  the  sea,  in  gladness, 
And  I  thought  no  more  of  bygone  sadness. 

I  think  the  sea  is  a  part  of  me 

With  its  gloom  and  glory — 

What  Has  Been,  and  what  yet  Shall  Be 

Is  all  its  story; 

Rise  up,  O  Heart,  with  the  tidal  flow, 
And  drown  the  sorrows  of  Long  Ago! 

Something  eerie  and  mystical  there  was  in  these  words, 
sung  as  she  sang  them  in  a  low,  soft,  contralto,  sustained 
by  the  pathetic  quiver  of  the  zither  strings  throbbing  under 
the  pressure  of  her  white  fingers,  and  Angus  asked  her 
where  she  had  learned  the  song. 

"  I  found  it," — she  answered,  somewhat  evasively. 

"  Did  you  compose  it  yourself  ?  " 

She  flushed  a  little. 

"  How  can  you  imagine  such  a  thing  ?  " 

He  was  silent,  but  "  imagined "  the  more.  And  after 
this  he  began  to  show  her  certain  scenes  and  passages  in 
the  book  he  was  writing,  sometimes  reading  them  aloud  to 
her  with  all  that  eager  eloquence  which  an  author  who 
loves  and  feels  his  work  is  bound  to  convey  into  the  pro- 
nounced expression  of  it.  And  she  listened,  absorbed  and 
often  entranced,  for  there  was  no  gain-saying  the  fact  that 
Angus  Reay  was  a  man  of  genius.  He  was  inclined  to  un- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   261 

derrate  rather  than  overestimate  his  own  abilities,  and  often 
showed  quite  a  pathetic  mistrust  of  himself  in  his  very  best 
and  most  original  conceptions. 

"  When  I  read  to  you," — he  said  to  her,  one  day — "  You 
must  tell  me  the  instant  you  feel  bored.  That's  a  great 
point!  Because  if  you  feel  bored,  other  people  who  read 
the  book  will  feel  bored  exactly  as  you  do  and  at  the  very 
same  passage.  And  you  must  criticise  me  mercilessly ! 
Rend  me  to  pieces — tear  my  sentences  to  rags,  and  pick 
holes  in  every  detail,  if  you  like !  That  will  do  me  a  world 
of  good!" 

Mary  laughed. 

"  But  why  ? "  she  asked,  "  Why  do  you  want  me  to  be 
so  unkind  to  you?  " 

"  It  won't  be  unkind," — he  declared — "  It  will  be  very 
helpful.  And  I'll  tell  you  why.  There's  no  longer  any 
real  '  criticism '  of  literary  work  in  the  papers  nowadays. 
There's  only  extravagant  eulogium  written  up  by  an  author's 
personal  friends  and  wormed  somehow  into  the  press — or 
equally  extravagant  abuse,  written  and  insinuated  in  simi- 
lar fashion  by  an  author's  personal  enemies.  Well  now, 
you  can't  live  without  having  both  friends  and  enemies — 
you  generally  have  more  of  the  latter  than  the  former, 
particularly  if  you  are  successful.  There's  nothing  a  lazy 
man  won't  do  to  '  down '  an  industrious  one, — nothing  an 
unknown  scrub  won't  attempt  in  the  way  of  trying  to  in- 
jure a  great  fame.  It's  a  delightful  world  for  that  sort 
of  thing ! — so  truly  *  Christian,'  pleasant  and  charitable ! 
But  the  consequence  of  all  these  mean  and  petty  '  personal ' 
views  of  life  is,  that  sound,  unbiased,  honest  literary  criti- 
cism is  a  dead  art.  You  can't  get  it  anywhere.  And  yet  if 
you  could,  there's  nothing  that  would  be  so  helpful,  or  so 
strengthening  to  a  man's  work.  It  would  make  him  put 
his  best  foot  foremost.  I  should  like  to  think  that  my 
book  when  it  comes  out,  would  be  *  reviewed '  by  a  man 
who  had  no  prejudices,  no  '  party '  politics,  no  personal 
feeling  for  or  against  me, — but  who  simply  and  solely  con- 
sidered it  from  an  impartial,  thoughtful,  just  and  generous 
point  of  view — taking  it  as  a  piece  of  work  done  honestly 
and  from  a  deep  sense  of  conviction.  Criticism  from  fel- 
lows who  just  turn  over  the  pages  of  a  book  to  find  fault 
casually  wherever  they  can — (I've  seen  them  at  it  in  news- 
paper offices!)  or  to  quote  unfairly  mere  scraps  of  sentences 


262      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

without  context, — or  to  fly  off  into  a  whirlwind  of  personal 
and  scurrilous  calumnies  against  an  author  whom  they  don't 
know,  and  perhaps  never  will  know, — that  sort  of  thing 
is  quite  useless  to  me.  It  neither  encourages  nor  angers 
me.  It  is  a  mere  flabby  exhibition  of  incompetency — much 
as  if  a  jelly-fish  should  try  to  fight  a  sea-gull!  Now  you, — 
if  you  criticise  me, — your  criticism  will  be  valuable,  be- 
cause it  will  be  quite  honest — there  will  be  no  '  personal ' 
feeling  in  it " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  and  smiled. 

"No?" 

Something  warm  and  radiant  in  her  glance  flashed  into 
his  soul  and  thrilled  it  strangely.  Vaguely  startled  by  an 
impression  which  he  did  not  try  to  analyse,  he  went  on 
hastily — "  No — because  you  see  you  are  neither  my  friend 
nor  my  enemy,  are  you  ?  " 

She  was  quite  silent. 

"  I  mean," — he  continued,  blundering  along  somewhat 
lamely, — "  You  don't  hate  me  very  much,  and  you  don't 
like  me  very  much.  I'm  just  an  ordinary  man  to  you. 
Therefore  you're  bound  to  be  perfectly  impartial,  because 
what  I  do  is  a  matter  of  *  personal '  indifference  to  you. 
That's  why  your  criticism  will  be  so  helpful  and  valuable." 

She  bent  her  head  closely  over  the  lace  she  was  mend- 
ing for  a  minute  or  two,  as  though  she  were  making  a  very 
intricate  knot.  Then  she  looked  up  again. 

"  Well,  if  you  wish  it,  I'll  tell  you  just  what  I  think," 
she  said,  quietly — "  But  you  mustn't  call  it  criticism.  I'm 
not  clever  enough  to  judge  a  book.  I  only  know  what 
pleases  me, — and  what  pleases  me  may  not  please  the 
world.  I  know  very  little  about  authors,  and  I've  taught 
myself  all  that  I  do  know.  I  love  Shakespeare, — but  I 
could  not  explain  to  you  why  I  love  him,  because  I'm  not 
clever  enough.  I  only  feel  his  work, — I  feel  that  it's  all 
right  and  beautiful  and  wonderful — but  I  couldn't  criti- 
cise it." 

"  No  one  can, — no  one  should !  "  said  Reay,  warmly — 
"  Shakespeare  is  above  all  criticism !  " 

"  But  is  he  not  always  being  criticised  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes.  By  little  men  who  cannot  understand  greatness," 
— he  answered — "  It  gives  a  kind  of  '  scholarly  importance ' 
to  the  little  men,  but  it  leaves  the  great  one  unscathed." 

This  talk  led  to  many  others  of  a  similar  nature  between 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

them,  and  Reay's  visits  to  Mary's  cottage  became  more 
and  more  frequent.  David  Helmsley,  weaving  his  baskets 
day  by  day,  began  to  weave  something  more  delicate  and 
uncommon  than  the  withes  of  willow, — a  weaving  whicli 
went  on  in  his  mind  far  more  actively  than  the  twisting  and 
plaiting  of  the  osiers  in  his  hands.  Sometimes  in  the  evenr 
ings,  when  work  was  done,  and  he  sat  in  his  comfortable 
easy  chair  by  the  fire  watching  Mary  at  her  sewing  anq 
Angus  talking  earnestly  to  her,  he  became  so  absorbed  in  his 
own  thoughts  that  he  scarcely  heard  their  voices,  and  often 
when  they  spoke  to  him,  he  started  from  a  profound  reverie, 
unconscious  of  their  words.  But  it  was  not  the  feebleness 
or  weariness  of  age  that  made  him  seem  at  times  indifferent 
to  what  was  going  on  around  him — it  was  the  intensity  and 
fervour  of  a  great  and  growing  idea  of  happiness  in  his 
soul, — an  idea  which  he  cherished  so  fondly  and  in  such 
close  secrecy,  as  to  be  almost  afraid  to  whisper  it  to  himself 
lest  by  some  unhappy  chance  it  should  elude  his  grasp  and 
vanish  into  nothingness. 

And  so  the  time  went  on  to  Christmas  and  New  Year. 
Weircombe  kept  these  festivals  very  quietly,  yet  not  with- 
out cheerfulness.  There  was  plenty  of  holly  about,  and 
the  children,  plunging  into  the  thick  of  the  woods  at  the 
summit  of  the  "  coombe  "  found  mistletoe  enough  for  the 
common  need.  The  tiny  Church  was  prettily  decorated 
by  the  rector's  wife  and  daughters,  assisted  by  some  of 
the  girls  of  the  village,  and  everybody  attended  service 
on  Christmas  morning,  not  only  because  it  was  Christmas, 
but  because  it  was  the  last  time  their  own  parson  would 
preach  to  them,  before  he  went  away  for  three  months  or 
more  to  a  warm  climate  for  the  benefit  of  his  health.  But 
Helmsley  did  not  join  the  little  crowd  of  affectionate  parish- 
ioners— he  stayed  at  home  while  Mary  went,  as  she  said 
"  to  pray  for  him."  He  watched  her  from  the  open  cottage 
door,  as  she  ascended  the  higher  part  of  the  "  coombe," 
dressed  in  a  simple  stuff  gown  of  darkest  blue,  with  a  prim 
little  "  old  maid's  "  bonnet,  as  she  called  it,  tied  neatly  under 
her  rounded  white  chin — and  carrying  in  her  hand  a  much 
worn  "  Book  of  Common  Prayer "  which  she  held  with 
a  certain  delicate  reverence  not  often  shown  to  holy  things 
by  the  church-going  women  of  the  time.  Weircombe 
Church  had  a  small  but  musical  chime  of  bells,  presented 
to  it  by  a  former  rector — and  the  silvery  sweetness  of  the 


264      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

peal  just  now  ringing  was  intensified  by  the  close  prox- 
imity of  the  mountain  stream,  which,  rendered  somewhat 
turbulent  by  recent  rains,  swept  along  in  a  deep  swift  cur- 
rent, carrying  the  melody  of  the  chimes  along  with  it  down 
to  the  sea  and  across  the  waves  in  broken  pulsation,  till 
they  touched  with  a  faint  mysterious  echo  the  masts  of 
home-returning  ships,  and  brought  a  smile  to  the  faces  of 
sailors  on  board  who,  recognising  the  sound,  said  "  Weir- 
Scombe  bells,  sure-fy  / " 

Helmsley  stood  listening,  lost  in  meditation.  To  any- 
one who  could  have  seen  him  then,  a  bent  frail  figure  just 
within  the  cottage  door,  with  his  white  hair,  white  beard, 
and  general  appearance  of  gentle  and  resigned  old  age,  he 
would  have  seemed  nothing  more  than  a  venerable  peasant, 
quietly  satisfied  with  his  simple  surroundings,  and  as  far 
apart  from  every  association  of  wealth,  as  the  daisy  in 
the  grass  is  from  the  star  in  the  sky.  Yet,  in  actual  fact, 
his  brain  was  busy  weighing  millions  of  money, — the  fate 
of  an  accumulated  mass  of  wealth  hung  on  the  balance  of 
his  decision, — and  he  was  mentally  arranging  his  plans 
with  all  the  clearness,  precision  and  practicality  which  had 
distinguished  him  in  his  biggest  financial  schemes, — schemes 
which  had  from  time  to  time  amazed  and  convulsed  the 
speculating  world.  A  certain  wistful  sadness  touched  him 
as  he  looked  on  the  quiet  country  landscape  in  the  wintry 
sunlight  of  this  Christmas  morn, — some  secret  instinctive 
foreboding  told  him  that  it  might  be  the  last  Christmas 
he  should  ever  see.  And  a  sudden  wave  of  regret  swept 
over  his  soul, — regret  that  he  had  not  appreciated  the  sweet 
things  of  life  more  keenly  when  he  had  been  able  to  enjoy 
their  worth.  So  many  simple  joys  missed! — so  many 
gracious  and  helpful  sentiments  discarded! — all  the  best 
of  his  years  given  over  to  eager  pursuit  of  gold, — not  be- 
cause he  cared  for  gold  really,  but  because,  owing  to  a 
false  social  system  which  perverted  the  moral  sense,  it 
seemed  necessary  to  happiness.  Yet  he  had  proved  it  to 
be  the  very  last  thing  that  could  make  a  man  happy.  The 
more  money,  the  less  enjoyment  of  it — the  greater  the 
wealth,  the  less  the  content.  Was  this  according  to  law  ? — 
the  ^  spiritual  law  of  compensation,  which  works  steadily 
behind  every  incident  which  we  may  elect  to  call  good  or 
evil  ?  He  thought  it  must  be  so.  This  very  festival — Christ- 
mas— how  thoroughly  he  had  been  accustomed  by  an  effete 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   265 

and  degenerate  "  social  set "  to  regard  it  as  a  "  bore," — 
an  exploded  superstition — a  saturnalia  of  beef  and  pudding 
— a  something  which  merely  served  as  an  excuse  for  throw- 
ing away  good  money  on  mere  stupid  sentiment.  "  Stupid  " 
sentiment?  Had  he  ever  thought  true,  tender,  homely  senti- 
ment "  stupid  "  ?  Yes, — perhaps  he  had,  when  in  the  bold 
carelessness  of  full  manhood  he  had  assumed  that  the  race 
was  to  the  swift  and  the  battle  to  the  strong — but  now,  when 
the  shadows  were  falling — when,  perhaps,  he  would  never 
hear  the  Christmas  bells  again,  or  be  troubled  by  the  "  silly 
superstitions "  of  loving,  praying,  hoping,  believing  hu- 
manity, he  would  have  given  much  could  he  have  gone  back 
in  fancy  to  every  Christmas  of  his  life  and  seen  each  one 
spent  cheerily  amid  the  warm  associations  of  such  "  senti- 
ments "  as  make  friendship  valuable  and  lasting.  He  looked 
up  half  vaguely  at  the  sky,  clear  blue  on  this  still  frosty 
morning,  and  was  conscious  of  tears  that  crept  smartingly 
behind  his  eyes  and  for  a  moment  dimmed  his  sight.  And 
he  murmured  dreamily — 

"Behold  we  know  not  anything; 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last— far  off— at  last,  to  all — 
And  every  winter  change  to  spring !  " 

A  tall,  athletic  figure  came  between  him  and  the  light, 
and  Angus  Reay's  voice  addressed  him — 

"  Hullo,  David !  A  merry  Christmas  to  you !  Do  you 
know  you  are  standing  out  in  the  cold  ?  What  would  Miss 
Mary  say  ?  " 

"  Miss  Mary  "  was  the  compromise  Angus  hit  upon  be- 
tween "  Miss  Deane  "  and  "  Mary," — considering  the  first 
term  too  formal,  and  the  last  too  familiar. 

Helmsley  smiled. 

"  Miss  Mary  has  gone  to  church," — he  replied — "  I 
thought  you  had  gone  too." 

Reay  gave  a  slight  gesture  of  mingled  regret  and  an- 
noyance. 

"  No — I  never  go  to  church," — he  said — "  But  don't 
you  think  I  despise  the  going.  Not  I.  I  wish  I  could  go 
to  church !  I'd  give  anything  to  go  as  I  used  to  do  with 
my  father  every  Sunday." 

"  And  why  can't  you  ?  " 

"  Because  the  church  is  not  what  it  used  to  be," — declared 


266     THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Reay — "  Don't  get  me  on  that  argument,  David,  or  I  shall 
never  cease  talking !  Now,  see  here ! — if  you  stand  any 
longer  at  that  open  door  you'll  get  a  chill !  You  go  inside 
the  house  and  imitate  Charlie's-  example — look  at  him ! " 
And  he  pointed  to  the  tiny  toy  terrier  snuggled  up  as  usual 
in  a  ball  of  silky  comfort  on  the  warm  hearth — "  Small 
epicure!  Come  back  to  your  chair,  David,  and  sit  by  the 
fire — your  hands  are  quite  cold." 

Helmsley  yielded  to  the  persuasion,  not  because  he  felt 
cold,  but  because  he  was  rather  inclined  to  be  alone  with 
Reay  for  a  little.  They  entered  the  house  and  shut  the 
door. 

"  Doesn't  it  look  a  different  place  without  her !  "  said 
Angus,  glancing  round  the  trim  little  kitchen — "  As  neat  as 
a  pin,  of  course,  but  all  the  life  gone  from  it." 

Helmsley  smiled,  but  did  not  answer.  Seating  himself 
in  his  arm-chair,  he  spread  out  his  thin  old  hands  to  the 
bright  fire,  and  watched  Reay  as  he  stood  near  the  hearth, 
leaning  one  arm  easily  against  a  rough  beam  which  ran 
across  the  chimney  piece. 

"  She  is  a  wonderful  woman ! "  went  on  Reay,  musingly ; 
"  She  has  a  power  of  which  she  is  scarcely  conscious." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  asked  Helmsley,  slowly  rubbing 
his  hands  with  quite  an  abstracted  air.- 

Angus  laughed  lightly,  though  a  touch  of  colour  red- 
dened his  bronzed  cheeks. 

"  The  power  that  the  old  alchemists  sought  and  never 
could  find !  "  he  answered — "  The  touch  that  transmutes 
common  metals  to  fine  gold,  and  changes  the  every-day 
prose  of  life  to  poetry." 

Helmsley  went  on  rubbing  his  hands  slowly. 

"  It's  so  extraordinary,  don't  you  think,  David," — he  con- 
tinued— "  that  there  should  be  such  a  woman  as  Miss  Mary 
alive  at  all  ?  " 

Helmsley  looked  up  at  him  questioningly,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  I  mean," — and  Angus  threw  out  his  hand  with  an  im- 
petuous gesture — "that  considering  all  the  abominable, 
farcical  tricks  women  play  nowadays,  it  is  simply  amazing 
to  find  one  who  is  contented  with  a  simple  life  like  this, 
and  who  manages  to  make  that  simple  life  so  gracious  and 
beautiful !  " 

Still  Helmsley  was  silent. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   267 

"  Now,  just  think  of  that  girl  I've  told  you  about — Lucy 
Sorrel," — proceeded  Angus — "  Nothing  would  have  con- 
tented her  in  all  this  world !  " 

"  Not  even  her  old  millionaire  ? "  suggested  Helmsley, 
placidly. 

"  No,  certainly  not !  Poor  old  devil !  He'll  soon  find 
himself  put  on  the  shelf  if  he  marries  her.  He  won't  T)e 
able  to  call  his  soul  his  own!  If  he  gives  her  diamonds, 
she'll  want  more  diamonds — if  he  covers  her  and  stuffs 
her  with  money,  she'll  never  have  enough !  She'll  want  all 
she  can  get  out  of  him  while  he  lives  and  everything  he  has 
ever  possessed  when  he's  dead." 

Helmsley  rubbed  his  hands  more  vigorously  together. 

"  A  very  nice  young  lady,"  he  murmured.  "  Very  nice 
indeed!  But  if  you  judge  her  in  this  way  now,  why  did 
you  ever  fall  in  love  with  her  ?  " 

"  She  was  pretty,  David !  "  and  Reay  smiled — "  That's 
all!  My  passion  for  her  was  skin-deep!  And  hers  for 
me  didn't  even  touch  the  cuticle !  She  was  pretty — as  pretty 
as  a  wax-doll, — perfect  eyes,  perfect  hair,  perfect  figure, 
perfect  complexion — ugh !  how  I  hate  perfection !  " 

And  taking  up  the  poker,  he  gave  a  vigorous  blow  to  a 
hard  lump  of  coal  in  the  grate,  and  split  it  into  a  blaze. 

"  I  hate  perfection !  "  he  resumed — "  Or  rather,  I  hate 
what  passes  for  perfection,  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there's 
nothing  perfect.  And  I  specially  and  emphatically  hate 
the  woman  that  considers  herself  a  *  beauty/  that  gets 
herself  photographed  as  a  '  beauty,'  that  the  press  reporter 
speaks  of  as  a  '  beauty,' — and  that  affronts  you  with  her 
'  beauty '  whenever  you  look  at  her,  as  though  she  were 
some  sort  of  first-class  goods  for  sale.  Now  Miss  Mary 
is  a  beautiful  woman — and  she  doesn't  seem  to  know  it." 

"  Her  time  for  vanity  is  past," — said  Helmsley,  senten- 
tiously — "  She  is  an  old  maid." 

"  Old  maid  be  shot !  "  exclaimed  Angus,  impetuously — 
"  By  Jove !  Any  man  might  be  proud  to  marry  her !  " 

A  keen,  sharp  glance,  as  incisive  as  any  that  ever  flashed 
up  and  down  the  lines  of  a  business  ledger,  gleamed  from 
under  Helmsley's  fuzzy  brows. 

"  Would  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Would  I  marry  her  ?  "  And  Angus  reddened  suddenly 
like  a  boy — "  Dear  old  David,  bless  you!  That's  just  what 
I  want  you  to  help  me  to  do !  " 


268      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

For  a  moment  such  a  great  wave  of  triumph  swept  over 
Helmsley's  soul  that  he  could  not  speak.  But  he  mastered 
his  emotion  by  an  effort. 

"  I'm  afraid," — he  said — "  I'm  afraid  I  should  be  no  use 
to  you  in  such  a  business, — you'd  much  better  speak  to  her 
yourself — " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  mean  to  speak  to  her  myself," — inter- 
rupted Reay,  warmly — "  Don't  be  dense,  David !  You  don't 
suppose  I  want  you  to  speak  for  me,  do  you?  Not  a  bit 
of  it!  Only  before  I  speak,  I  do  wish  you  could  find  out 
whether  she  likes  me  a  little — because — because — I'm  afraid 
she  doesn't  look  upon  me  at  all  in  that  light " 

"  In  what  light  ?  "  queried  Helmsley,  gently. 

"  As  a  lover," — replied  Angus — "  She's  given  up  think- 
ing of  lovers." 

Helmsley  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  clasping  his  hands 
together  so  that  the  tips  of  his  fingers  met,  looked  over 
them  in  almost  the  same  meditative  business-like  way  as 
he  had  looked  at  Lucy  Sorrel  when  he  had  questioned  her 
as  to  her  ideas  of  her  future. 

"  Well,  naturally  she  has," — he  answered — "  Lovers  have 
given  up  thinking  of  her1." 

"  I  hope  they  have !  "  said  Angus,  fervently — "  I  hope 
I  have  no  rivals!  For  my  love  for  her  is  a  jealous  love, 
David!  I  must  be  all  in  all  to  her,  or  nothing!  I  must  be 
the  very  breath  of  her  breath,  the  life  of  her  life !  I  must ! 
— or  I  am  no  use  to  her.  And  I  want  to  be  of  use.  I  want 
to  work  for  her,  to  look  upon  her  as  the  central  point  of 
all  my  actions — the  very  core  of  ambition  and  endeavour, 
— so  that  everything  I  do  may  be  well  done  enough  to  meet 
with  her  praise.  If  she  does  not  like  it,  it  will  be  worthless. 
For  her  soul  is  as  pure  as  the  sunlight  and  as  full  of  great 
depths  as  the  sea !  Simplest  and  sweetest  of  women  as 
she  is,  she  has  enough  of  God  in  her  to  make  a  man  live 
up  to  the  best  that  is  in  him !  " 

His  voice  thrilled  with  passion  as  he  spoke — and  Helms- 
ley  felt  a  strange  contraction  at  his  heart — a  pang  of  sharp 
memory,  desire  and  regret  all  in  one,  which  moved  him  to 
a  sense  of  yearning  for  this  love  which  he  had  never 
known — this  divine  and  wonderful  emotion  whose  power 
could  so  transform  a  man  as  to  make  him  seem  a  very  king 
among  men.  For  so  Angus  Reay  looked  just  now,  with 
his  eyes  flashing  unutterable  tenderness,  and  his  whole  as- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   269 

pect  expressive  of  a  great  hope  born  of  a  great  ideal.  But 
he  restrained  the  feeling  that  threatened  to  over-master 
him,  and  merely  said  very  quietly,  and  with  a  smile — 

"  I  see  you  are  very  much  in  love  with  her,  Mr.  Reay !  " 

"  In  love  ?  "  Angus  laughed — "  No,  my  dear  old  David ! 
I'm  not  a  bit  '  in  love.'  I  love  her !  That's  love  with  a  dif- 
ference. But  you  know  how  it  is  with  me.  I  haven't  a 
penny  in  the  world  but  just  what  I  told  you  must  last  me 
for  a  year — and  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  make  any  more. 
So  that  I  wouldn't  be  such  a  cad  as  to  speak  to  her  about 
it  yet.  But — if  I  could  only  get  a  little  hope, — if  I  could 
just  find  out  whether  she  liked  me  a  little,  that  would  give 
me  more  energy  in  my  work,  don't  you  see?  And  that's 
where  you  could  help  me,  David ! " 

Helmsley  smiled  ever  so  slightly. 

"  Tell  me  how,"— he  said. 

"  Well,  you  might  talk  to  her  sometimes  and  ask  her 
if  she  ever  thinks  of  getting  married — " 

"  I  have  done  that," — interrupted  Helmsley — "  and  she 
has  always  said  '  No.'  " 

"  Never  mind  what  she  has  said — ask  her  again,  David," 
— persisted  Angus — "  And  then  lead  her  on  little  by  little 
to  talk  about  me — " 

"  Lead  her  on  to  talk  about  you — ves !  "  and  Helmsley 
nodded  his  head  sagaciously. 

"  David,  my  dear  old  man,  you  will  interrupt  me," — 
and  Angus  laughed  like  a  boy — "  Lead  her  on,  I  say, — 
and  find  out  whether  she  likes  me  ever  so  little — and 
then " 

"  And  then  ?  "  queried  Helmsley,  his  old  eyes  beginning 
to  sparkle — "  Must  I  sing  your  praises  to  her?" 

"  Sing  my  praises !  No,  by  Jove ! — there's  nothing  to 
praise  in  me.  I  don't  want  you  to  say  a  word,  David. 
Let  her  speak — hear  what  she  says — and  then — and  then 
tell  me!" 

"  Then  tell  you — yes — yes,  I  see !  "  And  Helmsley  nod- 
ded again  in  a  fashion  that  was  somewhat  trying  to  Reay's 
patience.  "  But,  suppose  she  finds  fault  with  you,  and  says 
you  are  not  at  all  the  style  of  man  she  likes — what  then  ?  " 

"  Then," — said  Reay,  gloomily — "  my  book  will  never  be 
finished ! " 

"  Dear,  dear !  "  Helmsley  raised  his  hands  with  a  very 
well  acted  gesture  of  timid  concern—"  So  bad  as  all  that !  " 


2,TO      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  So  bad  as  all  that !  "  echoed  Reay,  with  a  quick  sigh ; 
"  Qr  rather  so  good  as  all  that.  I  don't  know  how  it  has 
happened,  David,  but  she  has  quite  suddenly  become  the 
very  life  of  my  work.  I  don't  think  I  could  get  on  with 
a  single  page  of  it,  if  I  didn't  feel  that  I  could  go  to  her 
and  ask  her  what  she  thinks  of  it." 

"  But," — said  Helmsley,  in  a  gentle,  argumentative  way 
— "  all  this  is  very  strange !  She  is  not  an  educated  woman." 

Reay  laughed  lightly. 

"  No  ?    What  do  you  call  an  educated  woman,  David  ?  " 

Helmsley  thought  a  moment.  The  situation  was  a  little 
difficult,  for  he  had  to  be  careful  not  to  say  too  much. 

"  Well,  I  mean,"— he  said,  at  last—"  She  is  not  a  lady." 

Reay's  eyes  flashed  sudden  indignation. 

"  Not  a  lady !  "  he  ejaculated — "  Good  God !  Who  is  a 
lady  then?" 

Helmsley  glanced  at  him  covertly.  How  fine  the  man 
looked,  with  his  tall,  upright  figure,  strong,  thoughtful  face, 
and  air  of  absolute  determination!" 

"  I'm  afraid," — he  murmured,  humbly — "  I'm  afraid  I 
don't  know  how  to  express  myself, — but  what  I  want  to  say 
is  that  she  is  not  what  the  world  would  call  a  lady, — just 
a  simple  lace-mender, — real  '  ladies '  would  not  ask  her  to 
their  nouses,  or  make  a  friend  of  her,  perhaps — " 

"  She's  a  simple  lace-mender, — I  was  a  common  cow- 
herd,"— said  Angus,  grimly — "  Do  you  think  those  whom 
the  world  calls  'ladies'  would  make  a  friend  of  me?" 

Helmsley  smiled. 

"  You're  a  man — and  to  women  it  doesn't  matter  what 
a  man  was,  so  long  as  he  is  something.  You  were  a  cow- 
herd, as  you  say — but  you  educated  yourself  at  a  University 
and  got  a  degree..  In  that  way  you've  raised  yourself  to 
the  rank  of  a  gentlemen — " 

"  I  was  always  that," — declared  Angus,  boldly,  "  even 
as  a  cowherd !  Your  arguments  won't  hold  with  me,  David ! 
A  gentleman  is  not  made  by  a  frock  coat  and  top  hat.  And 
a  lady  is  not  a  lady  because  she  wears  fine  clothes  and 
speaks  one  or  two  foreign  languages  very  badly.  For  that's 
about  all  a  '  lady's '  education  amounts  to  nowadays.  Ac- 
cording to  Victorian  annals,  '  ladies '  used  to  be  fairly 
acomplished — they  played  and  sang  music  well,  and  knew 
that  it  was  necessary  to  keep  up  intelligent  conversation 
and  maintain  graceful  manners — but  they've  gone  back  to 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   271 

sheer  barbarism  in  the  frantic  ugliness  of  their  performances 
at  hockey — and  they've  taken  to  the  repulsive  vices  of 
Charles  the  Second's  time  in  gambling  and  other  immorali- 
ties. No,  David !  I  don't  take  kindly  to  the  '  ladies  '  who 
disport  themselves  under  the  benevolent  dispensation  of 
King  Edward  the  Seventh." 

Helmsley  was  silent.    After  a  pause,  Reay  went  on — 

"  You  see,  David,  I'm  a  poor  chap — poorer  than  Mary 
is.  If  I  could  get  a  hundred,  or  say,  two  hundred  pounds 
for  my  book  when  it  is  finished,  I  could  ask  her  to  marry 
me  then,  because  I  could  bring  that  money  to  her  and  do 
something  to  keep  up  the  home.  I  never  want  anything 
sweeter  or  prettier  than  this  little  cottage  to  live  in.  If 
she  would  let  me  share  it  with  her  as  her  husband,  we 
should  live  a  perfectly  happy  life — a  life  that  thousands 
would  envy  us !  That  is,  of  course,  if  she  loved  me." 

"  Ay ! — that's  a  very  important  '  if,'  "  said  Helmsley. 

"  I  know  it  is.  That's  why  I  want  you  to  help  me  to 
find  out  her  mind,  David — will  you  ?  Because,  if  you  should 
discover  that  I  am  objectionable  to  her  in  any  way,  it  would 
be  better  for  me,  I  think,  to  go  straight  away  from  Weir- 
combe,  and  fight  my  trouble  out  by  myself.  Then,  you  see, 
she  would  never  know  that  I  wanted  to  bother  her  with 
my  life-long  presence.  Because  she's  very  happy  as  she 
is, — her  face  has  all  the  lovely  beauty  of  perfect  content — 
and  I'd  rather  do  anything  than  trouble  her  peace." 

There  followed  a  pause.  The  fire  crackled  and  burned 
with  a  warm  Christmas  glow,  and  Charlie,  uncurling  his 
soft  silky  body,  stretched  out  each  one  of  his  tiny  paws  sepa- 
rately, with  slow  movements  expressive  of  intense  comfort. 
If  ever  that  little  dog  had  known  what  it  was  to  lie  in  the 
lap  of  luxury  amid  aristocratic  surroundings,  it  was  cer- 
tain that  he  was  conscious  of  being  as  well  off  in  a  poor 
cottage  as  in  a  palace  of  a  king.  And  after  a  minute  or 
two,  Helmsley  raised  himself  in  his  chair  and  held  out  his 
hand  to  Angus  Reay,  who  grasped  it  warmly. 

"  I'll  do  my  best," — he  said,  quietly — "  I  know  what  you 
mean — and  I  think  your  feeling  does  you  honour.  Of 
course  you  know  I'm  only  a  kind  of  stranger  here — just 
a  poor  old  lonely  man,  very  dependent  on  Miss  Deane  for 
her  care  of  me,  and  trying  my  best  to  show  that  I'm  not 
ungrateful  to  her  for  all  her  goodness — and  I  mustn't  pre- 
sume too  far — but — I'll  do  my  best.  And  I  hope — I  hope 


272      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

all  will  be  well !  "  He  paused — and  pressed  Reay's  hand 
again — then  glanced  up  at  the  quaint  sheep-faced  clock  that 
ticked  monotonously  against  the  kitchen  wall.  "  She  will 
be  coming  back  from  church  directly," — he  continued — 
"  Won't  you  go  and  meet  her  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  ?  "    And  Reay's  face  brightened. 

"Do!" 

Another  moment,  and  Helmsley  was  alone — save  for  the 
silent  company  of  the  little  dog  stretched  out  upon  the 
hearth.  And  he  lost  himself  in  a  profound  reverie,  the 
while  he  built  a  castle  in  the  air  of  his  own  designing,  in 
which  Self  had  no  part.  How  many  airy  fabrics  of  beauty 
and  joy  had  he  not  raised  one  after  the  other  in  his  mind, 
only  to  see  them  crumble  into  dust! — but  this  one,  as  he 
planned  it  in  his  thoughts,  nobly  uplifted  above  all  petty 
limits,  with  all  the  light  of  a  broad  beneficence  shining  upon 
it,  and  a  grand  obliteration  of  his  own  personality  serving 
as  the  very  corner-stone  of  its  foundation,  seemed  likely 
to  be  something  resembling  the  house  spoken  of  by  Christ, 
which  was  built  upon  a  rock — against  which  neither  winds, 
nor  rains,  nor  floods  could  prevail.  And  when  Mary  came 
back  from  Church,  with  Reay  accompanying  her,  she  found 
him  looking  very  happy.  In  fact,  she  told  him  he  had 
quite  "  a  Christmas  face." 

"What  is  a  Christmas  face,  Mary?"  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  A  face  that  looks  glad  because  other 
people  are  glad," — she  replied,  simply. 

An  expressive  glance  flashed  from  Reay's  eyes, — a  glance 
which  Helmsley  caught  and  understood  in  all  its  eloquent 
meaning. 

"  We  had  quite  a  touching  little  sermon  this  morning," 
she  went  on,  untying  her  bonnet  strings,  and  taking  off 
that  unassuming  head-gear — "  It  was  just  a  homely  sim- 
ple, kind  talk.  Our  parson's  sorry  to  be  going  away,  but 
he  hopes  to  be  back  with  us  at  the  beginning  of  April,  fit 
and  well  again.  He's  looking  badly,  poor  soul!  I  felt  a 
bit  like  crying  when  he  wished  us  all  a  bright  Christmas 
and  happy  New  Year,  and  said  he  hoped  God  would  allow 
him  to  see  us  all  again." 

"  Who  is  going  to  take  charge  of  the  parish  in  his  ab- 
sence ?  "  asked  Reay. 

"  A  Mr.  Arbroath.  He  isn't  a  very  popular  man  in  these 
parts,  and  I  can't  think  why  he  has  volunteered  to  come 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   273 

here,  seeing  he's  got  several  parishes  of  his  own  on  the 
other  side  of  Dunster  to  attend  to.  But  I'm  told  he  also 
wants  a  change — so  he's  got  some  one  to  take  his  duties, 
and  he  is  coming  along  to  us.  Of  courste,  it's  well  known 
that  he  likes  to  try  a  new  parish  whenever  he  can." 

"  Has  he  any  reason  for  that  special  taste  ? "  enquired 
Reay. 

"  Oh  yes !  "  answered  Mary,  quietly — "  He's  a  great  High 
Churchman,  and  he  wants  to  introduce  Mass  vestments  and 
the  confessional  whenever  he  can.  Some  people  say  that 
he  receives  an  annual  payment  from  Rome  for  doing  this 
kind  of  work." 

"  Another  form  of  the  Papal  secret  service !  "  commented 
Reay,  drily — "  I  understand !  I've  seen  enough  of  it !  " 

Mary  had  taken  a  clean  tablecloth  from  an  oaken  press, 
and  was  spreading  it  out  for  dinner. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  smilingly,  "  he  won't  find  it  very  ad- 
vantageous to  him  to  take  the  duties  here.  For  every  man 
and  woman  in  the  village  intends  to  keep  away  from  Church 
altogether  if  he  does  not  give  us  our  services  exactly  as  we 
have  always  been  accustomed  to  them.  And  it  won't  be 
pleasant  for  him  to  read  prayers  and  preach  to  empty  seats, 
will  it?" 

"Scarcely!" 

And  Angus,  standing  near  the  fire,  bent  his  brows  with 
meditative  sternness  on  the  glowing  flames.  Then  sud- 
denly addressing  Helmsley,  he  said — "  You  asked  me  a 
while  ago,  David,  why  I  didn't  go  to  Church.  I  told  you 
I  wished  I  could  go,  as  I  used  to  do  with  my  father  every 
Sunday.  For,  when  I  was  a  boy,  our  Sundays  were  real 
devotional  days — our  preachers  felt  what  they  preached,  and 
when  they  told  us  to  worship  the  great  Creator  '  in  spirit 
and  in  truth,'  we  knew  they  were  in  earnest  about  it.  Now, 
religion  is  made  a  mere  '  party  '  system — a  form  of  struggle 
as  to  which  sect  can  get  the  most  money  for  its  own  pur- 
poses. Christ, — the  grand,  patient,  long-suffering  Ideal  of 
all  goodness,  is  gone  from  it!  How  can  He  remain  with 
it  while  it  is  such  a  Sham !  Our  bishops  in  England  truckle 
to  Rome — and,  Rome  itself  is  employing  every  possible 
means  to  tamper  with  the  integrity  of  the  British  constitu- 
tion. The  spies  and  emissaries  of  Rome  are  everywhere — 
both  in  our  so-called  '  national '  Church  and  in  our  most 
distinctly  wn-national  Press !  " 


274      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Helmsley  listened  with  keen  interest.  As  a  man  of  busi- 
ness, education,  observation,  and  discernment,  he  knew 
that  what  Reay  said  was  true, — but  in  his  assumed  role  of 
a  poor  and  superannuated  old  office  clerk,  who  had  been 
turned  adrift  from  work  by  reason  of  age  and  infirmities, 
he  had  always  to  be  on  his  guard  against  expressing  his 
opinion  too  openly  or  frankly. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  the  newspapers," — he  said, 
mildly — "  I  read  those  I  can  get,  just  for  the  news — but 
there  isn't  much  news,  it  appears  to  me " 

"  And  what  there  is  may  be  contradicted  in  an  hour's 
time," — said  Angus — "  I  tell  you,  David,  when  I  started 
working  in  journalism,  I  thought  it  was  the  finest  profes- 
sion going.  It  seemed  to  me  to  have  all  the  responsibilities 
of  the  world  on  its  back.  I  considered  it  a  force  with  which 
to  educate,  help,  and  refine  all  peoples,  and  all  classes.  But 
I  found  it  was  only  a  money  speculation  after  all.  How 
much  profit  could  be  made  out  of  it?  That  was  the  chief 
point  of  action.  That  was  the  mainspring  of  every  political 
discussion — and  in  election  times,  one  side  had  orders  to 
abuse  the  other,  merely  to  keep  up  the  popular  excitement. 
By  Jove!  I  should  like  to  take  a  select  body  of  electors 
'  behind  the  scenes '  of  a  newspaper  office  and  show  them 
how  the  whole  business  is  run !  " 

"  You  know  too  much,  evidently ! "  said  Mary  smiling 
— "  I  don't  wonder  you  were  dismissed !  " 

He  laughed — then  as  suddenly  frowned. 

"  I  swear  as  I  stand  here,"  he  said  emphatically,  "  that 
the  press  is  not  serving  the  people  well !  Do  you  know 
— no,  of  course  you  don't! — but  I  can  tell  you  for  a  fact 
that  a  short  time  ago  an  offer  was  made  from  America 
through  certain  financial  powers  in  the  city,  to  buy  up 
several  of  the  London  dailies,  and  run  them  on  American 
lines ! x  Germany  had  a  finger  in  the  pie,  too,  through  her 
German  Jews !  " 

Helmsley  looked  at  his  indignant  face  with  a  slight  im- 
perceptible smile. 

"  Well ! "  he  said,  with  a  purposely  miscomprehending 
air. 

"  Well !  You  say  '  Well,'  David,  as  if  such  a  proposi- 
tion contained  nothing  remarkable.  That's  because  you 
don't  understand !  Imagine  for  a  moment  the  British  Press 
being  run  by  America !  " 

1  A  fact. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   275 

Helmsley  stroked  his  beard  thoughtfully. 

"  I  can't  imagine  it," — he  said. 

"  No — of  course  you  can't !  But  a  few  rascally  city  finan- 
ciers could  imagine  it,  and  more  than  that,  were  prepared 
to  carry  the  thing  through.  Then,  the  British  people  would 
have  been  led,  guided,  advised,  and  controlled  by  a  Yankee 
syndicate!  And  the  worst  of  it  is  that  this  same  British 
people  would  have  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  '  deal. ' 
They  would  actually  have  been  paying  their  pennies  to  keep 
up  the  shares  of  a  gang  of  unscrupulous  rascals  whose  sole 
end  and  object  was  to  get  the  British  press  into  their  power! 
Think  of  it !  " 

"  But  did  they  succeed  ?  "  asked  Helmsley. 

"  No,  they  didn't.  Somebody  somewhere  had  a  con- 
science. Somebody  somewhere  refused  to  '  swop '  the  na- 
tion's much  boasted  '  liberty  of  the  press '  for  so  much 
cash  down.  I  believe  the  '  Times  '  is  backed  by  the  Roths- 
childs, and  managed  by  American  advertisers — I  don't  know 
whether  it  is  so  or  not — but  I  do  know  that  the  public 
ought  to  be  put  on  their  guard.  If  I  were  a  powerful  man 
and  a  powerful  speaker  I  would  call  mass  meetings  every- 
where, and  urge  the  people  not  to  purchase  a  single  news- 
paper till  each  one  published  in  its  columns  a  full  and  honest 
list  of  the  shareholders  concerned  in  it.  Then  the  public 
would  have  a  chance  of  seeing  where  they  are.  At  present 
they  don't  know  where  they  are." 

"  Well,  you  know  very  well  where  you  are !  "  said  Mary, 
interrupting  him  at  this  juncture — "  You  are  in  my  house, 
— it's  Christmas  Day,  and  dinner's  ready !  " 

He  laughed,  and  they  all  three  sat  down  to  table.  It 
had  been  arranged  for  fully  a  week  before  that  Angus 
should  share  his  Christmas  dinner  with  Mary  and  "  old 
David  " — and  a  very  pleasant  and  merry  meal  they  made 
of  it.  And  in  the  afternoon  and  evening  some  of  the  vil- 
lagers came  in  to  gossip — and  there  was  singing  of  songs, 
and  one  or  two  bashful  attempts  on  the  part  of  certain 
gawky  lads  to  kiss  equally  gawky  girls  under  the  mistletoe. 
And  Mary,  as  hostess  of  the  hap-hazard  little  party,  did  her 
best  to  promote  kindly  feeling  among  them  all,  effacing 
herself  so  utterly,  and  playing  the  "  old  maid  "  with  such 
sweet  and  placid  loveliness  that  Angus  became  restless, 
and  was  moved  by  a  feverish  desire  to  possess  himself 
of  one  of  the  little  green  twigs  with  white  berries,  which, 


276      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

looking  so  innocent,  were  apparently  so  provocative,  and  to 
try  its  effect  by  holding  it  suddenly  above  the  glorious 
masses  of  her  brown  hair,  which  shone  with  the  soft  and 
shimmering  hue  of  evening  sunlight.  But  he  dared  not. 
Kissing  under  the  mistletoe  was  all  very  well  for  boys  and 
girls — but  for  a  mature  bachelor  of  thirty-nine  and  an  "  old 
maid  "  of  thirty-five,  these  uncouth  and  calf-like  gambol- 
lings  lacked  dignity.  Moreover,  when  he  looked  at  Mary's 
pure  profile — the  beautifully  shaped  eyes,  classic  mouth,  and 
exquisite  line  of  neck  and  shoulder,  the  very  idea  of  touch- 
ing those  lips  with  a  kiss  given  in  mere  lightness,  seemed 
fraught  with  impertinence  and  irreverence.  If  ever  he 
kissed  Mary,  he  thought, — and  then  all  the  powers  of  his 
mind  galloped  off  like  wild  horses  let  loose  on  a  sun-baked 
ranch — if  ever  he  kissed  Mary!  What  a  dream! — what 
a  boldness  unprecedented!  But  again — if  ever  he  kissed 
her,  it  must  be  with  the  kiss  of  a  lover,  for  whom  such  a 
token  of  endearment  was  the  sign  of  a  sacred  betrothal. 
And  he  became  so  lost  and  abstracted  in  his  musings  that 
he  almost  forgot  the  simple  village  merriment  around  him, 
and  only  came  back  to  himself  a  little  when  the  party  broke 
up  altogether,  and  he  himself  had  to  say  "  good-night," 
and  go  with  the  rest.  Mary,  while  giving  him  her  hand  in 
farewell,  looked  at  him  with  a  sisterly  solicitude. 

"  You're  tired,  Mr.  Reay," — she  said — "  I'm  afraid  we've 
been  too  noisy  for  you,  haven't  we?  But  one  can't  keep 
boys  and  girls  quiet !  " 

"  I  don't  want  them  kept  quiet," — said  Reay,  holding 
her  hand  very  hard — "  And  I'm  not  tired.  I've  only  been 
thinking." 

"Ah!    Of  your  book?" 

"  Yes.    Of  my  book." 

He  went  then,  and  came  no  more  to  the  cottage  till  a 
week  later  when  it  was  New  Year's  Eve.  This  they  cele- 
brated very  quietly — just  they  three  alone.  Mary  thought 
it  somewhat  imprudent  for  "  old  David  "  to  sit  up  till  mid- 
night in  order  to  hear  the  bells  "  ring  out  the  Old,  ring  in 
the  New  " — but  he  showed  a  sudden  vigorous  resolution 
about  it  which  was  not  to  be  gainsaid. 

"  Let  me  have  my  way,  my  dear," — he  implored  her — "  I 
may  never  see  another  New  Year !  " 

"  Nonsense,  David !  "  she  said  cheerily — "  You  will  see 
many  and  many  a  one,  please  God !  " 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   277 

"  Please  God,  I  shall !  "  he  answered,  quietly — "  But  if 
it  should  not  please  God — then — " 

"  There ! — you  want  to  stay  up,  and  you  shall  stay  up !  " 
she  declared,  smiling — "  After  all,  as  Mr.  Reay  is  with  us, 
the  time  won't  perhaps  seem  so  long  for  you." 

"  But  for  you," — put  in  Angus — "  it  will  seem  very  long 
won't  it !  " 

"  Oh,  I  always  sit  up  for  the  coming-in  of  the  New 
Year," — she  replied — "  Father  used  to  do  it,  and  I  like 
to  keep  up  all  father's  ways.  Only  I  thought  David  might 
feel  too  tired.  You  must  sing  to  us,  Mr.  Reay,  to  pass 
the  hours  away." 

"  And  so  must  you !  "  he  replied. 

And  she  did  sing  that  night  as  she  had  never  sung  to 
them  before,  with  a  fuller  voice  and  more  passion  than  she 
had  hitherto  shown, — one  little  wild  ballad  in  particular 
taking  Reay's  fancy  so  much  that  he  asked  her  to  sing  it 
more  than  once.  The  song  contained  just  three  six-line 
stanzas,  having  little  merit  save  in  their  suggestiveness. 

Oh  love,  my  love!    I  have  giv'n  you  my  heart 

Like  a  rose  full-blown, 
With  crimson  petals  trembling  apart — 

It  is  all  your  own — 

What  will  you  do  with  it,  Dearest, — say? 
Keep  it  for  ever  or  throw  it  away? 

Oh  love,  my  love!    I  have  giv'n  you  my  life, 

Like  a  ring  of  gold; 
Symbol  of  peace  in  a  world  of  strife, 
To  have  and  to  hold. 
What  will  you  do  with  it,  Dearest, — say? 
Treasure  it  always,  or  throw  it  away? 

Oh  love,  my  love !     Have  all  your  will — • 

I  am  yours  to  the  end ; 
Be  false  or  faithful — comfort  or  kill, 

Be  lover  or  friend, — 
Where  gifts  are  given  they  must  remain, 
I  never  shall  ask  for  them  back  again ! 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  have  a  very  beautiful  voice,  Miss 
Mary  ? "  said  Angus,  after  hearing  this  for  the  second 
time. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so  at  all," — she  answered,  quickly ; 
"  Father  used  to  like  to  hear  me  sing — but  I  can  only  just 
give  ballads  their  meaning,  and  pronounce  the  words  care- 


278      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

fully  so  the  people  may  know  what  I  am  trying  to  sing 
about.    I've  no  real  voice." 

"  You  have !  "  And  Angus  turned  to  Helmsley  for  his 
opinion — "  Hasn't  she,  David  ?  " 

"  Her  voice  is  the  sweetest  /  ever  heard," — replied  Helms- 
ley — "  But  then  I'm  not  much  of  a  judge." 

And  his  thoughts  went  roving  back  to  certain  enter- 
tainments in  London  which  he  had  given  for  the  benefit 
of  his  wealthy  friends,  when  he  had  paid  as  much  as  five 
or  six  hundred  guineas  in  fees  to  famous  opera  singers, 
that  they  might  shriek  or  warble,  as  their  respective  talents 
dictated,  to  crowds  of  indifferent  loungers  in  his  rooms, 
who  cared  no  more  for  music  than  they  did  for  religion. 
He  almost  smiled  as  he  recalled  those  nights,  and  con- 
trasted them  with  this  New  Year's  evening,  when  seated 
in  an  humble  cottage,  he  had  for  his  companions  only  a 
lowly-born  poor  woman,  and  an  equally  lowly-born  poor 
man,  both  of  whom  evinced  finer  education,  better  manners, 
greater  pride  of  spirit,  and  more  resolute  independence  than 
nine-tenths  of  the  "  society  "  people  who  had  fawned  upon 
him  and  flattered  him,  simply  because  they  knew  he  was  a 
millionaire.  And  the  charm  of  his  present  position  was 
that  these  two,  poor,  lowly-born  people  were  under  the 
impression  that  even  in  their  poverty  and  humility  they  were 
better  off  than  he  was,  and  that  because  fortune  had  been, 
as  they  considered,  kind  to  them,  they  were  bound  to  treat 
him  in  a  way  that  should  not  remind  him  of  his  dependent 
and  defenceless  condition.  It  was  impossible  to  imagine 
greater  satisfaction  than  that  which  he  enjoyed  in  the 
contemplation  of  his  own  actual  situation  as  compared  with 
that  which  he  had  impressed  upon  the  minds  of  these  two 
friends  of  his  who  had  given  him  their  friendship  trustingly 
and  frankly  for  himself  alone.  And  he  listened  placidly, 
with  folded  hands  and  half  shut  eyes,  while  Angus,  at 
Mary's  request,  trolled  forth  "  The  Standard  on  the  Braes 
o'  Mar  "  and  "  Sound  the  pibroch," — varying  those  war- 
like ditties  with  "  Jock  o'  Hazledean,"  and  "  Will  ye  no 
come  back  again," — till  all  suddenly  Mary  rose  from  her 
chair,  and  with  her  finger  to  her  lips  said  "  Hark !  "  The 
church-bells  were  ringing  out  the  Old  Year,  and  glancing 
at  the  clock,  they  saw  it  wanted  but  ten  minutes  to  midnight. 
Softly  Mary  stepped  to  the  cottage  door  and  opened  it. 
The  chime  swung  melodiously  in,  and  Angus  Reay  went 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   279 

to  the  threshold,  and  stood  beside  Mary,  listening.  Had 
they  glanced  back  that  instant  they  would  have  seen  Helms- 
ley  looking  at  them  both,  with  an  intensity  of  yearning  in 
his  pale  face  and  sad  old  eyes  that  was  pitiful  and  earnest 
beyond  all  expression — they  would  have  seen  his  lips  move, 
as  he  murmured — "  God  grant  that  I  may  make  their  lives 
beautiful !  God  give  me  this  peace  of  mind  before  I  die ! 
God  bless  them !  "  But  they  were  absorbed  in  listening — 
and  presently  with  a  deep  clang  the  bells  ceased.  Mary 
turned  her  head. 

'  The  Old  Year's  out,  David !  " 

Then  she  went  to  him  and  knelt  down  beside  him. 

"  It's  been  a  kind  old  year !  " — she  said — "  It  brought 
you  to  me  to  take  care  of,  and  me  to  you  to  take  care  of 
you — didn't  it?" 

He  laid  one  hand  on  hers,  tremblingly,  but  was  silent. 
She  turned  up  her  kind,  sweet  face  to  his. 

"  You're  not  tired,  are  you  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  my  dear,  no !  " 

A  rush  and  a  clang  of  melody  swept  suddenly  through  the 
open  door — the  bells  had  begun  again. 

"  A  Happy  New  Year,  Miss  Mary !  "  said  Angus,  look- 
ing towards  her  from  where  he  stood  on  the  threshold — 
"  And  to  you,  David  !  " 

With  an  irrepressible  movement  of  tenderness  Helmsley 
raised  his  trembling  hands  and  laid  them  gently  on  Mary's 
head. 

"  Take  an  old  man's  blessing,  my  dear !  "  he  said,  softly, 
"  And  from  a  most  grateful  heart !  " 

She  caught  his  hands  as  he  lifted  them  again  from  her 
brow,  and  kissed  them.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  but 
she  brushed  them  quickly  away. 

"You  talk  just  like  father!"  she  said,  smiling — "He 
was  always  grateful  for  nothing !  " 

And  rising  from  her  kneeling  attitude  by  Helmsley's 
chair,  she  went  again  towards  the  open  cottage  door,  hold- 
ing out  her  two  hands  to  Reay.  Looking  at  her  as  she 
approached  he  seemed  to  see  in  her  some  gracious  angel, 
advancing  with  all  the  best  possibilities  of  life  for  him  in 
her  sole  power  and  gift. 

"  A  Happy  New  Year,  Mr.  Reay !  And  success  to  the 
book!" 


280      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

He  clasped  the  hands  she  extended. 

"  If  you  wish  success  for  it,  success  is  bound  to  come !  " 
he  answered  in  a  low  voice — "  I  believe  in  your  good  in- 
fluence ! " 

She  looked  at  him,  and  whatever  answer  rose  to  her 
lips  was  suddenly  silenced  by  the  eloquence  of  his  eyes. 
She  coloured  hotly,  and  then  grew  very  pale.  They  both 
stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  open  door,  silent  and  strangely 
embarrassed,  while  the  bells  swung  and  clanged  musically 
through  the  frosty  air,  and  the  long  low  swish  of  the  sea 
swept  up  like  a  harmonious  bass  set  to  the  silvery  voice 
of  the  chimes.  They  little  guessed  with  what  passionate 
hope,  yearning,  and  affection,  Helmsley  watched  them  stand- 
ing there ! — they  little  knew  that  on  them  the  last  ambition 
of  his  life  was  set ! — and  that  any  discovery  of  sham  or 
falsehood  in  their  natures  would  make  cruel  havoc  of  his 
dearest  dreams!  They  waited,  looking  out  on  the  dark 
quiet  space,  and  listening  to  the  rush  of  the  stream  till  the 
clamour  of  the  bells  ceased  again,  and  sounded  no  more. 
In  the  deep  stillness  that  followed  Angus  said  softly — 

"  There's  not  a  leaf  left  on  the  old  sweetbriar  bush 
now !  " 

"  No," — answered  Mary,  in  the  same  soft  tone — "  But 
it  will  be  the  first  thing  to  bud  with  the  spring." 

"  I've  kept  the  little  sprig  you  gave  me," — he  added, 
apparently  by  way  of  a  casual  after-thought. 

"Have  you?" 

Silence  fell  again — and  not  another  word  passed  between 
them  save  a  gentle  "  Good-night "  when,  the  New  Year 
having  fully  come  in,  they  parted. 


CHAPTER     XVII 

THE  dreariest  season  of  the  year  had  now  set  in,  but  frost 
and  cold  were  very  seldom  felt  severely  in  Weircombe. 
The  little  village  lay  in  a  deep  warm  hollow,  and  was  thor- 
oughly protected  at  the  back  by  the  hills,  while  in  the 
front  its  shores  were  washed  by  the  sea,  which  had  a  warm- 
ing as  well  as  bracing  effect  on  the  atmosphere.  To  invalids 
requiring  an  equable  temperature,  it  would  have  been  a 
far  more  ideal  winter  resort  than  any  corner  of  the  much- 
vaunted  Riviera,  except  indeed  for  the  fact  that  feeding 
and  gambling  dens  were  not  among  its  attractions.  To 
"  society  "  people  it  would  have  proved  insufferably  dull, 
because  society  people,  lacking  intelligence  to  do  anything 
themselves,  always  want  everything  done  for  them.  Weir- 
combe  folk  would  not  have  understood  that  method  of  liv- 
ing. To  them  it  seemed  proper  and  reasonable  that  men, 
and  women  too,  should  work  for  what  they  ate.  The  theory 
that  only  a  few  chosen  persons,  not  by  any  means  estimable 
either  as  to  their  characters  or  their  abilities,  should  eat 
what  others  were  starved  for,  would  not  have  appealed 
to  them.  They  were  a  small  and  unimportant  community, 
but  their  ideas  of  justice  and  principles  of  conduct  were 
very  firmly  established.  They  lived  on  the  lines  laid  down 
by  their  forefathers,  and  held  that  a  simple  faith  in  God, 
coupled  with  honest  hard  labour,  was  sufficient  to  make 
life  well  worth  living.  And,  on  the  whole  they  were  made 
of  that  robust  human  material  of  which  in  the  days  gone 
by  there  was  enough  to  compose  and  consolidate  the  great- 
ness of  Britain.  They  were  kindly  of  heart,  but  plain  in 
speech, — and  their  remarks  on  current  events,  persons  and 
things,  would  have  astonished  and  perhaps  edified  many 
a  press  man  had  he  been  among  them,  when  on  Saturday 
nights  they  "  dropped  in "  at  the  one  little  public-house 
of  the  village,  and  argued  politics  and  religion  till  closing- 
time.  Angus  Reay  soon  became  a  favourite  with  them 
all,  though  at  first  they  had  looked  upon  him  with  a  little 
distrust  as  a  "  gentleman  tow-rist " ;  but  when  he  had 

281 


282      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

mixed  with  them  freely  and  familiarly,  making  no  secret 
of  the  fact  that  he  was  poor,  and  that  he  was  endeavouring 
to  earn  a  livelihood  like  all  the  rest  of  them,  only  in  a  dif- 
ferent way,  they  abandoned  all  reserve,  and  treated  him 
as  one  of  themselves.  Moreover,  when  it  was  understood 
that  "  Mis'  Deane,"  whose  reputation  stood  very  high  in 
the  village,  considered  him  not  unworthy  of  her  friendship, 
he  rose  up  several  degrees  in  the  popular  estimation,  and 
many  a  time  those  who  were  the  self-elected  wits  and 
wise-acres  of  the  place,  would  "  look  in  "  as  they  termed 
it,  at  Mary's  cottage,  and  pass  the  evening  talking  with  him 
and  with  "  old  David,"  who,  if  he  did  not  say  much,  lis- 
tened the  more.  Mr.  Bunce,  the  doctor,  and  Mr.  Twitt, 
the  stone-mason,  were  in  particular  profoundly  impressed 
when  they  knew  that  Reay  had  worked  for  two  years  on  a 
London  newspaper. 

"  Ye  must  'ave  a  ter'uble  knowledge  of  the  world,  Mis- 
ter !  "  said  Twitt,  thoughtfully—"  Just  ter'uble !  " 

"  Yes,  I  should  assume  it  must  be  so," — murmured  Bunce 
— "  I  should  think  it  could  hardly  fail  to  be  so  ?  " 

Reay  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know !  "  he  said — "  You  may  call  it  a 
knowledge  of  the  world  if  you  like — I  call  it  an  unpleasant 
glimpse  into  the  shady  side  of  life.  I'd  rather  walk  in 
the  sunshine." 

"  And  what  would  you  call  the  sunshine,  sir  ? "  asked 
Bunce,  with  his  head  very  much  on  one  side  like  a  medita- 
tive bird. 

"  Honesty,  truth,  belief  in  God,  belief  in  good ! " — an- 
swered Angus,  with  some  passion — "  Not  perpetual  schem- 
ing, suspicion  of  motives,  personal  slander,  and  pettiness 
— O  Lord ! — such  pettiness  as  can  hardly  be  believed ! 
Journalism  is  the  most  educational  force  in  the  world,  but 
its  power  is  being  put  to  wrong  uses." 

"  Well, — said  Twitt,  slowly — "  I  aint  so  blind  but  I  can 
see  through  a  wall  when  there's  a  chink  in  it.  An'  when  I 
gets  my  '  Daily '  down  from  Lunnun,  an'  sees  harf  a  page 
given  up  to  a  kind  o'  poster  about  Pills,  an'  another  harf 
a  page  praisin'  up  somethin'  about  Tonics,  I  often  sez  to 
myself :  '  Look  'ere,  Twitt !  What  are  ye  payin'  yer  pennies 
out  for?  For  a  Patent  Pill  or  for  News?  For  a  Nervy 
Tonic  or  for  the  latest  pol'tics  ?  '  An'  myself — me — Twitt 
— answers  an'  sez — '  Why  ye're  payin'  for  news  an'  pol'tics, 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   283 

of  course ! '  Well  then,  I  sez,  '  Twitt,  ye  aint  gettin'  nothin* 
o'  the  sort ! '  An'  t'  other  day,  blow'd  if  I  didn't  see  in  my 
paper  a  long  piece  about  '  'Ow  to  be  Beautiful ' — an'  that 
'adn't  nothin'  to  do  wi'  me  nor  no  man,  but  was  just  mere 
gabble  for  fool  women.  '  'Ow  to  be  Beautiful,'  aint  news 
o' the  world!" 

"  No," — said  Reay — "  You're  not  intended  to  know  the 
news  of  the  world.  News,  real  news,  is  the  property  of  the 
Stock  Exchange.  It's  chiefly  intended  for  company  gam- 
bling purposes.  The  People  are  not  expected  to  know  much 
about  it.  Modern  Journalism  seeks  to  play  Pope  and  assert 
the  doctrine  of  infallibility.  What  It  does  not  authorise, 
isn't  supposed  to  exist." 

"  Is  that  truly  so  ?  "  asked  Bunce,  solemnly. 

"  Most  assuredly !  " 

"  You  mean  to  say," — said  Helmsley,  breaking  in  upon 
the  conversation,  and  speaking  in  quiet  unconcerned  tones — 
"  that  the  actual  national  affairs  of  the  world  are  not  told 
to  the  people  as  they  should  be,  but  are  jealously  guarded 
by  a  few  whose  private  interests  are  at  stake  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  certainly  do  mean  that." 

"  I  thought  you  did.  You  see,"  went  on  Helmsley — 
"  when  I  was  in  regular  office  work  in  London,  I  used  to- 
hear  a  good  deal  concerning  the  business  schemes  of  this, 
that  and  the  other  great  house  in  the  city, — and  I  often 
wondered  what  the  people  would  say  if  they  ever  came  to 
know !  " 

"  Came  to  know  what  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bunce,  anxiously. 

"  Why,  the  names  of  the  principal  shareholders  in  the 
newspapers," — said  Reay,  placidly — "  That  might  possibly 
open  their  eyes  to  the  way  their  opinions  are  manufactured! 
for  them !  There's  very  little  '  liberty  of  the  press  '  in  Great 
Britain  nowadays.  The  press  is  the  property  of  a  few  rich 
men." 

Mary,  who  was  working  very  intently  on  a  broad  length 
of  old  lace  she  was  mending,  looked  up  at  him — her  eyes 
were  brilliant  and  her  cheeks  softly  flushed. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  brave  enough  to  say  that  some  day 
right  out  to  the  people  as  you  say  it  to  us," — she  observed. 

"  I  will !  Never  fear  about  that !  If  I  ant  ever  anything 
— if  I  ever  can  be  anything — I  will  do  my  level  best  to  save 
my  nation  from  being  swallowed  up  by  a  horde  of  German- 
American  Jews !  "  said  Reay,  hotly — "  I  would  rather  suf- 


284      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

fer  anything  myself  than  see  the  dear  old  country  brought 
to  shame." 

"  Right,  very  right !  "  said  Mr.  Bunce,  approvingly — 
"And  many — yes,  I  think  we  may  certainly  say  many, — are 
of  your  spirit, — what  do  you  think,  David  ?  " 

Helmsley  had  raised  himself  in  his  chair,  and  was  looking 
wonderfully  alert.  The  conversation  interested  him. 

"  I  quite  agree," — he  said — "  But  Mr.  Reay  must  remem- 
ber that  if  he  should  ever  want  to  make  a  clean  sweep  of 
German-American  Jews  and  speculators  as  he  says,  and 
expose  the  way  they  tamper  with  British  interests,  he  would 
require  a  great  deal  of  money.  A  very  great  deal  of 
money !  "  he  repeated,  slowly, — "  Now  I  wonder,  Mr.  Reay, 
what  you  would  do  with  a  million? — two  millions? — three 
millions  ? — four  millions  ?  " — 

"  Stop,  stop,  old  David !  " — interrupted  Twitt,  suddenly 
holding  up  his  hand — "  Ye  takes  my  breath  away !  " 

They  all  laughed,  Reay's  hearty  tones  ringing  above  the 
rest. 

"  Oh,  I  should  know  what  to  do  with  them !  " — he  said ; 
"  but  I  wouldn't  spend  them  on  my  own  selfish  pleasures — 
that  I  swear !  For  one  thing,  I'd  run  a  daily  newspaper  on 
honest  lines " 

"  It  wouldn't  sell ! "  observed  Helmsley,  drily. 

"It  would— it  should!"  declared  Reay— "  And  I'd  tell 
the  people  the  truth  of  things, — I'd  expose  every  financial 
fraud  I  could  find " 

"And  you'd  live  in  the  law-courts,  I  fear !  "  said  Mr. 
Bunce,  gravely  shaking  his  head — "  We  may  be  perfectly 
certain,  I  think — may  we  not,  David? — that  the  law-courts 
would  be  Mr.  Reay's  permanent  address  ?  " 

They  laughed  again,  and  the  conversation  turned  to  other 
topics,  though  its  tenor  was  not  forgotten  by  anyone,  least 
of  all  by  Helmsley,  who  sat  very  silent  for  a  long  time  after- 
wards, thinking  deeply,  and  seeing  in  his  thoughts  various 
channels  of  usefulness  to  the  world  and  the  world's  progress, 
which  he  had  missed,  but  which  others  after  him  would  find. 

Meanwhile  Weircombe  suffered  a  kind  of  moral  convul- 
sion in  the  advent  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Arbroath,  who  ar- 
rived to  "  take  duty  "  in  the  absence  of  its  legitimate  pastor. 
He  descended  upon  the  tiny  place  like  an  embodied  black 
whirlwind,  bringing  his  wife  with  him,  a  lady  whose  facial 
lineaments  bore  the  strangest  and  most  remarkable  resem- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   285 

blance  to  those  of  a  china  cat;  not  a  natural  cat,  because 
there  is  something  soft  and  appealing  about  a  real  "  pussy," 
— whereas  Mrs.  Arbroath's  countenance  was  cold  and  hard 
and  shiny,  like  porcelain,  and  her  smile  was  precisely  that  of 
the  immovable  and  ruthless-looking  animal  designed  long 
ago  by  old-time  potters  and  named  "  Cheshire."  Her  eyes 
were  similar  to  the  eyes  of  that  malevolent  china  creature — 
and  when  she  spoke,  her  voice  had  the  shrill  tone  which  was 
but  a  few  notes  off  the  actual  "me-iau  "  of  an  angry  "  Tom." 
Within  a  few  days  after  their  arrival,  every  cottage  in  the 
"  coombe "  had  been  "  visited,"  and  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Arbroath  had  made  up  their  minds  as  to  the  neglected, 
wholly  unspiritual  and  unregenerate  nature  of  the  little 
flock  whom  they  had  offered,  for  sake  of  their  own  health 
and  advantage,  to  tend.  The  villagers  had  received  them 
civilly,  but  without  enthusiasm.  When  tackled  on  the  sub- 
ject of  their  religious  opinions,  most  of  them  declined  to 
answer,  except  Mr.  Twitt,  who,  fixing  a  filmy  eye  sternly 
on  the  plain  and  gloomy  face  of  Mr.  Arbroath,  said  em- 
phatically : 

"  We  aint  no  'Igh  Jinks !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  man  ?  "  demanded  Arbroath, 
with  a  dark  smile. 

"  I  mean  what  I  sez " — rejoined  Twitt — "  I've  been 
stone-mason  'ere  goin'  on  now  for  thirty  odd  years  an'  it's 
allus  been  the  same  'ere — no  'Igh  Jinks.  Purcessin  an* 
vestiments  " — here  Twitt  spread  out  a  broad  dirty  thumb 
and  dumped  it  down  with  each  word  into  the  palm  of  his 
other  hand — "  candles,  crosses,  bobbins  an'  bowins — them's 
what  we  calls  'Igh  Jinks,  an'  I  make  so  bold  as  to  say  that  if 
ye  gets  'em  up  'ere,  Mr.  Arbroath,  ye'll  be  mighty  sorry 
for  yourself ! " 

"  I  shall  conduct  the  services  as  I  please !  "  said  Arbroath. 
"  You  take  too  much  upon  yourself  to  speak  to  me  in  such 
a  fashion !  You  should  mind  your  own  business !  " 

"  So  should  you,  Mister,  so  should  you !  "  And  Twitt 
chuckled  contentedly — "An'  if  ye  don't  mind  it,  there's  those 
'ere  as'll  make  ye !  " 

Arbroath  departed  in  a  huff,  and  the  very  next  Sunday 
announced  that  "  Matins  "  would  be  held  at  seven  o'clock 
daily  in  the  Church,  and  "  Evensong  "  at  six  in  the  after- 
noon. Needless  to  say,  the  announcement  was  made  in 
vain.  Day  after  day  passed,  and  no  one  attended.  Smart- 


286      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

ing  with  rage,  Arbroath  sought  to  "  work  up  "  the  village 
to  a  proper  "  'Igh  Jink  "  pitch — but  his  efforts  were  wasted. 
And  a  visit  to  Mary  Deane's  cottage  did  not  sweeten  his 
temper,  for  the  moment  he  caught  sight  of  Helmsley  sitting 
in  his  usual  corner  by  the  fire,  he  recognised  him  as  the  "  old 
tramp  "  he  had  interviewed  in  the  common  room  of  the 
"  Trusty  Man." 

"  How  did  you  come  here  ?  "  he  demanded,  abruptly. 

Helmsley,  who  happened  to  be  at  work  basket-making, 
looked  up,  but  made  no  reply.  Whereupon  Arbroath  turned 
upon  Maryr — 

"  Is  this  man  a  relative  of  yours  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mary  had  risen  from  her  chair  out  of  ordinary  civility  as 
the  clergyman  entered,  and  now  replied  quietly. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Oh !     Then  what  is  he  doing  here  ?  " 

"  You  can  see  what  he  is  doing," — she  answered,  with 
a  slight  smile — "  He  is  making  baskets." 

"  He  is  a  tramp !  "  said  Arbroath,  pointing  an  inflexible 
finger  at  him — "  I  saw  him  last  summer  smoking  and  drink- 
ing with  a  gang  of  low  ruffians  at  a  roadside  inn  called  '  The 
Trusty  Man  '  !  "  And  he  advanced  a  step  towards  Helms- 
ley — "  Didn't  I  see  you  there  ?  " 

Helmsley  looked  straight  at  him. 

"  You  did." 

"  You  told  me  you  were  tramping  to  Cornwall." 

"  So  I  was." 

"  Then  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Earning  a  living." 

Arbroath  turned  sharply  on  Mary. 

"Is  that  true?" 

"  Of  course  it  is  true," — she  replied — "  Why  should  he 
tell  you  a  lie  ?  " 

"  Does  he  lodge  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Arbroath  paused  a  moment,  his  little  brown  eyes  spar- 
kling vindictively. 

"  Well,  you  had  better  be  careful  he  does  not  rob  you  ?  " 
he  said.  "  For  I  can  prove  that  he  seemed  to  be  very  good 
friends  with  that  notorious  rascal  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  who 
murdered  a  nobleman  at  Blue  Anchor  last  summer,  and 
who  would  have  hung  for  his  crime  if  he  had  not  fortunately 
saved  the  expense  of  a  rope  by  dying." 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   287 

Helmsley,  bending  over  his  basket-weaving,  suddenly 
straightened  himself  and  looked  the  clergyman  full  in 
the  face. 

"  I  never  knew  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  till  that  night  on  which 
you  saw  me  at  '  The  Trusty  Man/  "  he  said — "  But  I  know 
he  had  terrible  provocation  for  the  murder  he  committed. 
I  saw  that  murder  done !  " 

"  You  saw  it  done !  "  exclaimed  Arbroath — "  And  you 
are  here  ?  " 

"Why  should  I  not  be  here?"  demanded  Helmsley — 
"  Would  you  have  expected  me  to  stay  there?  I  was  only 
one  of  many  witnesses  to  that  terrible  deed  of  vengeance — 
but,  as  God  lives,  it  was  a  just  vengeance !  " 

"Just?  You  call  murder  just!"  and  Arbroath  gave  a 
gesture  of  scorn  and  horror — "And  you," — he  continued, 
turning  to  Mary  indignantly — "  can  allow  a  ruffian  like  this 
to  live  in  your  house  ?  " 

"  He  is  no  ruffian," — said  Mary  steadily, — "  Nor  was  Tom 
o'  the  Gleam  a  ruffian  either.  He  was  well-known  in  these 
parts  for  many  and  many  a  deed  of  kindness.  The  real 
ruffian  was  the  man  who  killed  his  little  child.  Indeed  I 
think  he  was  the  chief  murderer." 

"  Oh,  you  do,  do  you  ? "  and  Mr.  Arbroath  frowned 
heavily — "And  you  call  yourself  a  respectable  woman  ?  " 

Mary  smiled,  and  resuming  her  seat,  bent  her  head  in- 
tently over  her  lace  work. 

Arbroath  stood  irresolute,  gazing  at  her.  He  was  a 
sensual  man,  and  her  physical  beauty  annoyed  him.  He 
would  have  liked  to  sit  down  alone  with  her  and  take  her 
hand  in  his  own  and  talk  to  her  about  her  "  soul  "  while 
gloating  over  her  body.  But  in  the  "  old  tramp's  "  presence 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  So  he  assumed  a  high 
moral  tone. 

"Accidents  will  happen," — he  said,  sententiously — "  If  a 
child  gets  into  the  way  of  a  motor  going  at  full  speed,  it 
is  bound  to  be  unfortunate — for  the  child.  But  Lord 
Wrotham  was  a  rich  man — and  no  doubt  he  would-  have 
paid  a  handsome  sum  down  in  compensation " 

"  Compensation ! "  And  Helmsley  suddenly  stood  up, 
drawing  his  frail  thin  figure  erect — "  Compensation ! 
Money!  Money  for  a  child's  life — money  for  a  child's 
love!  Are  you  a  minister  of  Christ,  that  you  can  talk  of 
such  a  thing  as  possible?  What  is  all  the  wealth  of  the 


288      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

world  compared  to  the  life  of  one  beloved  human  creature ! 
Reverend  sir,  I  am  an  old  poor  man, — a  tramp  as  you  say, 
consorting  with  rogues  and  ruffians — but  were  I  as  rich  as 
the  richest  millionaire  that  ever  '  sweated  '  honest  labour,  I 
would  rather  shoot  myself  than  offer  money  compensation 
to  a  father  for  the  loss  of  a  child  whom  my  selfish  pleasure 
had  slain ! " 

He  trembled  from  head  to  foot  with  the  force  of  his  own 
eloquence,  and  Arbroath  stared  at  him  dumb-foundered. 

"  You  are  a  preacher," — went  on  Helmsley — "  You  are 
a  teacher  of  the  Gospel.  Do  you  find  anything  in  the  New 
Testament  that  gives  men  licence  to  ride  rough-shod  over 
the  hearts  and  emotions  of  their  fellow-men?  Do  you  find 
there  that  selfishness  is  praised  or  callousness  condoned? 
In  those  sacred  pages  are  we  told  that  a  sparrow's  life  is 
valueless,  or  a  child's  prayer  despised?  Sir,  if  you  are  a 
Christian,  teach  Christianity  as  Christ  taught  it — honestly!" 

Arbroath  turned  livid. 

"  How  dare  you — !  "  he  began — when  Mary  quietly  rose. 

"  I  would  advise  you  to  be  going,  sir," — she  said,  quite 
courteously — "  The  old  man  is  not  very  strong,  and  he  has 
a  trouble  of  the  heart.  It  is  little  use  for  persons  to  argue 
who  feel  so  differently.  We  poor  folk  do  not  understand 
the  ways  of  the  gentry." 

And  she  held  open  the  door  of  her  cottage  for  him  to 
pass  out.  He  pressed  his  slouch-hat  more  heavily  over  his 
eyes,  and  glared  at  her  from  under  the  shadow  of  its  brim. 

"  You  are  harbouring  a  dangerous  customer  in  your 
house !  "  he  said — "A  dangerous  customer !  It  will  be  my 
duty  to  warn  the  parish  against  him !  " 

She  smiled. 

"  You  are  very  welcome  to  do  so,  sir !     Good-morning !  " 

And  as  he  tramped  away  through  her  tiny  garden,  she 
quickly  shut  and  barred  the  door  after  him,  and  hurried  to 
Helmsley  in  some  anxiety,  for  he  looked  very  pale,  and  his 
breath  came  and  went  somewhat  rapidly. 

"  David  dear,  why  did  you  excite  yourself  so  much  over 
that  man !  "  she  said,  kneeling  beside  him  as  he  sank  back 
exhausted  in  his  chair — "  Was  it  worth  while  ?  " 

He  patted  her  head  with  a  tremulous  hand. 

"  Perhaps  not !  "  And  he  smiled — "  Perhaps  not,  Mary ! 
But  the  cold-blooded  way  in  which  he  said  that  a  money 
compensation  might  have  been  offered  to  poor  Tom  o'  the 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   289 

Gleam  for  his  little  child's  life — my  God!  As  if  any  sort 
of  money  could  compare  with  love !  " 

He  stroked  her  hair  gently,  and  went  on  murmuring  to 
himself — 

"As  if  all  the  gold  in  the  world  could  make  up  for  the 
loss  of  one  loving  heart !  " 

Mary  was  silent.  She  saw  that  he  was  greatly  agitated, 
and  thought  it  better  to  let  him  speak  out  his  whole  mind 
rather  than  suppress  his  feelings. 

"  What  can  a  man  do  with  wealth !  "  he  went  on,  speak- 
ing more  to  himself  than  to  her — "  He  can  buy  everything 
that  is  to  be  bought,  certainly — but  if  he  has  no  one  to 
share  his  goods  with  him,  what  then?  Eh,  Mary?  What 
then?" 

"  Why  then  he'd  be  a  very  miserable  man,  David ! "  she 
answered,  smiling — "  He'd  wish  he  were  poor,  with  some 
one  to  love  him !  " 

He  looked  at  her,  and  his  sunken  eyes  flashed  with  quite 
an  eager  light. 

"  That's  true !  "  he  said — "  He'd  wish  he  were  poor  with 
some  one  to  love  him !  Mary,  you've  been  so  kind  to  me — 
promise  me  one  thing !  " 

"  What's  that  ?  "  and  she  patted  his  hand  soothingly. 

"  Just  this — if  I  die  on  your  hands  don't  let  that  man 
Arbroath  bury  me !  I  think  my  very  bones  would  split  at 
the  sound  of  his  rasping  voice !  " 

Mary  laughed. 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  that !  "  she  said — "  Mr.  Arbroath 
won't  have  the  chance  to  bury  you,  David !  Besides,  he 
never  takes  the  burials  of  the  very  poor  folk  even  in  his  own 
parishes.  He  wrote  a  letter  in  one  of  the  country-side 
papers  not  very  long  ago,  to  complain  of  the  smallness  of 
the  burial  fees,  and  said  it  wasn't  worth  his  while  to  bury 
paupers !  "  And  she  laughed  again.  "  Poor,  bitter-hearted 
man !  He  must  be  very  wretched  in  himself  to  be  so  can- 
tankerous to  others." 

"  Well,  don't  let  him  bury  me!"  said  Helmsley— "  That's 
all  I  ask.  I'd  much  rather  Twitt  dug  a  hole  in  the  sea- 
shore and  put  my  body  into  it  himself,  without  any  prayers 
at  all,  than  have  a  prayer  croaked  over  me  by  that  clerical 
raven  !  Remember  that !  " 

"  I'll  remember!  "  And  Mary's  face  beamed  with  kindly 
tolerance  and  good-humour — "  But  you're  really  quite  an 


290      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

angry  old  boy  to-day,  David!  I  never  saw  you  in  such  a 
temper !  " 

Her  playful  tone  brought  a  smile  to  his  face  at  last. 

"  It  was  that  horrible  suggestion  of  money  compensation 
for  a  child's  life  that  angered  me," — he  said,  half  apolo- 
getically— "  The  notion  that  pounds,  shillings  and  pence 
could  pay  for  the  loss  of  love,  got  on  my  nerves.  Why, 
love  is  the  only  good  thing  in  the  world !  " 

She  had  been  half  kneeling  by  his  chair — but  she  now 
rose  slowly,  and  stretched  her  arms  out  with  a  little  gesture 
of  sudden  weariness. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  David  ? "  and  she  sighed,  almost 
unconsciously  to  herself — "  I'm  not  so  sure !  " 

He  glanced  at  her  in  sudden  uneasiness.  Was  she  too 
going  to  say,  like  Lucy  Sorrel,  that  she  did  not  believe  in 
love?  He  thought  of  Angus  Reay,  and  wondered.  She 
caught  his  look  and  smiled. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure !  "  she  repeated — "  There's  a  great  deal 
talked  about  love, — but  it  often  seems  as  if  there  was  more 
talk  than  deed.  At  least  there  is  in  what  is  generally  called 
'  love.'  I  know  there's  a  very  real  and  beautiful  love,  like 
that  which  I  had  for  my  father,  and  which  he  had  for 
me, — that  was  as  near  being  perfect  as  anything  could  be 
in  this  world.  But  the  love  I  had  for  the  young  man  to 
whom  I  Was  once  engaged  was  quite  a  different  thing 
altogether." 

"  Of  course  it  was !  "  said  Helmsley — "And  quite  natu- 
rally, too.  You  loved  your  father  as  a  daughter  loves — and 
I  suppose  you  loved  the  young  man  as  a  sweetheart  loves — 
eh?" 

"  Sweetheart  is  a  very  pretty  word," — she  answered,  the 
smile  still  lingering  about  her  lips — "  It's  quite  old-fashioned 
too,  and  I  love  old-fashioned  things.  But  I  don't  think  I 
loved  the  young  man  exactly  as  a  '  sweetheart.'  It  all  came 
about  in  a  very  hap-hazard  way.  He  took  a  fancy  to  me, 
and  we  used  to  go  long  walks  together.  He  hadn't  very 
much  to  say  for  himself — he  smoked  most  of  the  time.  But 
he  was  honest  and  respectable — and  I  got  rather  fond  of 
him — so  that  when  he  asked  me  to  marry  him,  I  thought  it 
would  perhaps  please  father  to  see  me  provided  for— and  I 
said  yes,  without  thinking  very  much  about  it.  Then,  when 
father  failed  in  business  and  my  man  threw  me  over,  I  fret- 
ted a  bit  just  for  a  day  or  two — mostly  I  think  because  we 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   291 

couldn't  go  any  more  Sunday  walks  together.  I  was  in  the 
early  twenties,  but  now  I'm  getting  on  in  the  thirties.  I 
know  I  didn't  understand  a  bit  about  real  love  then.  It 
was  just  fancy  and  the  habit  of  seeing  the  one  young  man 
oftener  than  others.  And,  of  course,  that  isn't  love." 

Helmsley  listened  to  her  every  word,  keenly  interested. 
Surely,  if  he  guided  the  conversation  skilfully  enough,  he 
might  now  gain  some  useful  hints  which  would  speed  the 
cause  of  Angus  Reay  ? 

"  No— of  course  that  isn't  love," — he  echoed — "  But  what 
do  you  take'  to  be  love  ? — Can  you  tell  me  ?  " 

Her  eyes  filled  with  a  dreamy  light,  and  her  lips  quivered 
a  little. 

"  Can  I  tell  you  ?  Not  very  well,  perhaps — but  I'll  try. 
Of  course  it's  all  over  for  me  now — and  I  can  only  just 
picture  what  I  think  it  ought  to  be.  I  never  had  it.  I  mean 
I  never  had  that  kind  of  love  I  have  dreamed  about,  and  it 
seems  silly  for  an  old  maid  to  even  talk  of  such  a  thing.  But 
love  to  my  mind  ought  to  be  the  everything  of  life!  If  I 

loved  a  man "  Here  she  suddenly  paused,  and  a  wave 

of  colour  flushed  her  cheeks.  Helmsley  never  took  his  eyes 
off  her  face. 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  said,  tentatively — "  Well ! — go  on — if  you 
loved  a  man? " 

"  If  I  loved  a  man,  David," — she  continued,  slowly,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  meditatively  behind  her  back,  and  looking 
thoughtfully  into  the  glowing  centre  of  the  fire — "  I  should 
love  him  so  completely  that  I  should  never  think  of  anything 
in  which  he  had  not  the  first  and  greatest  share.  I  should  see 
his  kind  looks  in  every  ray  of  sunshine — I  should  hear  his 
loving  voice  in  every  note  of  music, — if  I  were  to  read  a 
book  alone,  I  should  wonder  which  sentence  in  it  would 
please  him  the  most — if  I  plucked  a  flower,  I  should  ask 
myself  if  he  would  like  me  to  wear  it, — I  should  live  through 
him  and  for  him — he  would  be  my  very  eyes  and  heart  and 
soul !  The  hours  would  seem  empty  without  him " 

She  broke  off  with  a  little  sob,  and  her  eyes  brimmed 
over  with  tears. 

"  Why  Mary !  Mary,  my  dear !  "  murmured  Helmsley, 
stretching  out  his  hand  to  touch  her — "  Don't  cry !  " 

"  I'm  not  crying,  David !  "  and  a  rainbow  smile  lighted 
her  face — "I'm  only  just — feeling!  It's  like  when  I  read 
a  little  verse  of  poetry  that  is  very  sad  and  sweet,  I  get  tears 


292      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

into  my  eyes — and  when  I  talk  about  love — especially  now 
that  I  shall  never  know  what  it  is,  something  rises  in  my 
throat  and  chokes  me " 

"  But  you  do  know  what  it  is," — said  Helmsley,  power- 
fully moved  by  the  touching  simplicity  of  her  confession  of 
loneliness — "  There  isn't  a  more  loving  heart  than  yours  in 
the  world,  I'm  sure !  " 

She  came  and  knelt  down  again  beside  him. 

"  Oh  yes,  I've  a  loving  heart !  "  she  said — "  But  that's  just 
the  worst  of  it!  I  can  love,  but  no  one  loves  or  ever  will 
love  me — now.  I'm  past  the  age  for  it.  No  woman  over 
thirty  can  expect  to  be  loved  by  a  lover,  you  know ! 
Romance  is  all  over — and  one  '  settles  down,'  as  they  say. 
I've  never  quite  '  settled ' — there's  always  something  rest- 
less in  me.  You're  such  a  dear  old  man,  David,  and  so  kind  ! 
— I  can  speak  to  you  just  as  if  you  were  my  father — and  I 
daresay  you  will  not  think  it  very  wrong  or  selfish  of  me  if 
I  say  I  have  longed  to  be  loved  sometimes !  More  than  that, 
I've  wished  it  had  pleased  God  to  send  me  a  husband  and 
children — I  should  have  dearly  liked  to  hold  a  baby  in  my 
arms,  and  soothe  its  little  cries,  and  make  it  grow  up  to  be 
happy  and  good,  and  a  blessing  to  every  one.  Some  women 
don't  care  for  children — but  I  should  have  loved  mine !  " 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  Helmsley  took  her  hand,  and 
silently  pressed  it  in  his  own. 

"  However," — she  went  on,  more  lightly — "  it's  no  good 
grieving  over  what  cannot  be  helped.  No  man  has  ever 
really  loved  me — because,  of  course,  the  one  I  was  engaged 
to  wouldn't  have  thrown  me  over  just  because  I  was  poor  if 
he  had  cared  very  much  about  me.  And  I  shall  be  thirty- 
five  this  year — so  I  must — I  really  must  " — and  she  gave 
herself  an  admonitory  little  shake — "  settle  down !  After 
all  there  are  worse  things  in  life  than  being  an  old  maid.  I 
don't  mind  it — it's  only  sometimes  when  I  feel  inclined  to 
grizzle,  that  I  think  to  myself  what  a  lot  of  love  I've  got  in 
my  heart — all  wasted !  " 

"  Wasted  ?  "  echoed  Helmsley,  gently — "  Do  you  think 
love  is  ever  wasted  ?  " 

Her  eyes  grew  serious  and  dreamy. 

"  Sometimes  I  do,  and  sometimes  I  don't " — she  answered 
— "  When  I  begin  to  like  a  person  very  much  I  often  pull 
myself  back  and  say  '  Take  care !  Perhaps  he  doesn't  like 
you!'" 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   293 

"  Oh !  The  person  must  be  a  '  he '  then !  "  said  Helmsley, 
smiling  a  little. 

She  coloured. 

"  Oh  no — not  exactly ! — but  I  mean, — now,  for  instance," 
— and  she  spoke  rapidly  as  though  to  cover  some  deeper 
feeling — "  I  like  you  very  much — indeed  I'm  fond  of  you, 
David ! — I've  got  to  know  you  so  well,  and  to  understand 
all  your  ways — but  I  can't  be  sure  that  you  like  me  as  much 
as  I  like  you,  can  I  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  kind  and  noble  face  with  eyes  full  of 
tenderness  and  gratitude. 

"  If  you  can  be  sure  of  anything,  you  can  be  sure  of 
that !  " — he  said — "  To  say  I  '  like  '  you  would  be  a  poor 
way  of  expressing  myself.  I  owe  my  very  life  to  you — and 
though  I  am  only  an  old  poor  man,  I  would  say  I  loved 
you  if  I  dared !  " 

She  smiled — and  her  whole  face  shone  with  the  reflected 
sunshine  of  her  soul. 

"  Say  it,  David  dear !  Do  say  it !  I  should  like  to 
hear  it!" 

He  drew  the  hand  he  held  to  his  lips,  and  gently  kissed  it. 

"  I  love  you,  Mary ! "  he  said — "As  a  father  loves  a 
daughter  I  love  you,  and  bless  you !  You  have  been  a  good 
angel  to  me — and  I  only  wish  I  were  not  so  old  and  weak 
and  dependent  on  your  care.  I  can  do  nothing  to  show  my 
affection  for  you — I'm  only  a  burden  upon  your  hands " 

She  laid  her  fingers  lightly  across  his  lips. 

"Sh-sh!"  she  said— "  That's  foolish  talk,  and  I  won't 
listen  to  it!  I'm  glad  you're  fond  of  me — it  makes  life  so 
much  pleasanter.  Do  you  know,  I  sometimes  think  God 
must  have  sent  you  to  me  ?  " 

"Do  you?    Why?" 

"  Well,  I  used  to  fret  a  little  at  being  so  much  alone, — the 
days  seemed  so  long,  and  it  was  hard  to  have  to  work  only 
for  one's  wretched  self,  and  see  nothing  in  the  future  but 
just  the  same  old  round — and  I  missed  my  father  always. 
I  never  could  get  accustomed  to  his  empty  chair.  Then 
when  I  found  you  on  the  hills,  lost  and  solitary,  and  ill,  and 
brought  you  home  to  nurse  and  take  care  of,  all  the  vacancy 
seemed  filled — and  I  was  quite  glad  to  have  some  one  to 
work  for.  I've  been  ever  so  much  happier  since  you've 
been  with  me.  We'll  be  like  father  and  daughter  to  the 
end,  vron't  we  ?  " 


29*      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

She  put  one  arm  about  him  coaxingly.  He  did  not 
answer. 

"  You  won't  go  away  from  me  now, — will  you,  David  ?  " 
she  urged — "  Even  when  you've  paid  me  back  all  you  owe 
me  as  you  wish  by  your  own  earnings,  you  won't  go  away  ?  " 

He  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  her  as  she  bent  over  him. 

"  You  mustn't  ask  me  to  promise  anything," — he  said,  "  I 
will  stay  with  you — as  long  as  I  can !  " 

She  withdrew  her  arm  from  about  him,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  irresolute. 

"  Well — I  shall  be  very  miserable  if  you  do  go," — she 
said — "And  I'm  sure  no  one  will  take  more  care  of  you 
than  I  will !  " 

"  I'm  sure  of  that,  too,  Mary ! "  and  a  smile  that  was  al- 
most youthful  in  its  tenderness  brightened  his  worn  features 
• — "  I've  never  been  so  well  taken  care  of  in  all  my  life  be- 
fore !  Mr.  Reay  thinks  I  am  a  very  lucky  old  fellow." 

"  Mr.  Reay !  "  She  echoed  the  name — and  then,  stoop- 
ing abruptly  towards  the  fire,  began  to  make  it  up  afresh. 
Helmsley  watched  her  intently. 

"  Don't  you  like  Mr.  Reay  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  turned  a  smiling  face  round  upon  him. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  like  him !  "  she  answered — "  I  think 
everyone  in  Weircombe  likes  him." 

"  I  wonder  if  he'll  ever  marry  ?  "  pursued  Helmsley,  with 
a  meditative  air. 

"Ah,  I  wonder !  I  hope  if  he  does,  he'll  find  some  dear 
sweet  little  girl  who  will  really  love  him  and  be  proud  of 
him!  For  he's  going  to  be  a  great  man,  David! — a  great 
and  famous  man  some  day !  " 

"You  think  so?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it!" 

And  she  lifted  her  head  proudly,  while  her  blue  eyes 
shone  with  enthusiastic  fervour.  Helmsley  made  a  mental 
note  of  her  expression,  and  wondered  how  he  could  proceed. 

"And  you'd  like  him  to  marry  some  '  dear  sweet  little 
girl ' " — he  went  on,  reflectively — "  I'll  tell  him  that  you 
said  so !  " 

She  was  silent,  carefully  piling  one  or  two  small  logs  on 
the  fire. 

"  Dear  sweet  little  girls  are  generally  uncommonly  vain 
of  themselves,"  resumed  Helmsley — "And  in  the  strength 
of  their  dearness  and  sweetness  they  sometimes  fail  to  ap- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   295 

predate  love  when  they  get  it.  Now  Mr.  Reay  would  love 
very  deeply,  I  should  imagine — and  I  don't  think  he  could 
bear  to  be  played  with  or  slighted." 

"  But  who  would  play  with  or  slight  such  love  as  his  ?  " 
asked  Mary,  with  a  warm  flush  on  her  face — "  No  woman 
that  knew  anything  of  his  heart  would  wilfully  throw  it 
away !  " 

Helmsley  stroked  his  beard  thoughtfully. 

"  That  story  of  his  about  a  girl  named  Lucy  Sorrel," — he 
began. 

"  Oh,  she  was  wicked — downright  wicked !  "  declared 
Mary,  with  some  passion — "Any  girl  who  would  plan  and 
scheme  to  marry  an  old  man  for  his  money  must  be  a 
worthless  creature.  I  wish  I  had  been  in  that  Lucy  Sorrel's 
place !  " 

"Ah !  And  what  would  you  have  done  ? "  enquired 
Helmsley. 

"  Well,  if  I  had  been  a  pretty  girl,  in  my  teens,  and  I 
had  been  fortunate  enough  to  win  the  heart  of  a  splendid 
fellow  like  Angus  Reay," — said  Mary,  "  I  would  have 
thanked  God,  as  Shakespeare  tells  us  to  do,  for  a  good 
man's  love!  And  I  would  have  waited  for  him  years,  if 
he  had  wished  me  to!  I  would  have  helped  him  all  I  could, 
and  cheered  him  and  encouraged  him  in  every  way  I  could 
think  of — and  when  he  had  won  his  fame,  I  should  have 
been  prouder  than  a  queen !  Yes,  I  should ! — I  think  any 
girl  would  have  been  lucky  indeed  to  get  such  a  man  to  care 
for  her  as  Angus  Reay !  " 

Thus  spake  Mary,  with  sparkling  eyes  and  heaving  bosom 
— and  Helmsley  heard  her,  showing  no  sign  of  any  especial 
interest,  the  while  he  went  on  meditatively  stroking  his 
beard. 

"  It  is  a  pity," — he  said,  after  a  discreet  pause — "  that 
you  are  not  a  few  years  younger,  Mary!  You  might  have 
loved  him  yourself." 

Her  face  grew  suddenly  scarlet,  and  she  seemed  about 
to  utter  an  exclamation,  but  she  repressed  it.  The  colour 
faded  from  her  cheeks  as  rapidly  as  it  had  flushed  them, 
leaving  her  very  pale. 

"  So  I  might !  "  she  answered  quietly, — and  she  smiled  ; 
"  Indeed  I  think  it  would  have  been  very  likely !  But  that 
sort  of  thing  is  all  over  for  me." 

She  turned  away,  and  began  busying  herself  with  some 


296      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

of  her  household  duties.  Helmsley  judged  that  he  had 
said  enough — and  quietly  exulted  in  his  own  mind  at  the 
discovery  which  he  was  confident  he  had  made.  All  seemed 
clear  and  open  sailing  for  Angus  Reay — if — if  she  could  be 
persuaded  that  it  was  for  herself  and  herself  alone  that  he 
loved  her. 

"  Now  if  she  were  a  rich  woman,  she  would  never  believe 
in  his  love !  "  he  thought — "  There  again  comes  in  the  curse 
of  money !  Suppose  she  were  wealthy  as  women  in  her 
rank  of  life  would  consider  it — suppose  that  she  had  a  pros- 
perous farm,  and  a  reliable  income  of  so  much  per  annum, 
she  would  never  flatter  herself  that  a  man  loved  her  for  her 
own  good  and  beautiful  self — especially  a  man  in  the  situa- 
tion of  Reay,  with  only  twenty  pounds  in  the  world  to  last 
him  a  year,  and  nothing  beyond  it  save  the  dream  of  fame ! 
She  would  think — and  naturally  too — that  he  sought  to 
strengthen  and  improve  his  prospects  by  marrying  a  woman 
of  some  '  substance '  as  they  call  it.  And  even  as  it  is  the 
whole  business  requires  careful  handling.  I  myself  must  be 
oh  my  guard.  But  I  think  I  may  give  hope  to  Reay! — in- 
deed I  shall  try  and  urge  him  to  speak  to  her  as  soon  as 
possible — before  fortune  comes  to  either  of  them !  Love  in 
its  purest  and  most  unselfish  form,  is  such  a  rare  blessing — 
such  a  glorious  Angel  of  the  kingdom  of  Heaven,  that  we 
should  not  hesitate  to  give  it  welcome,  or  delay  in  offering 
it  reverence!  It  is  all  that  makes  life  worth  living — God 
knows  how  fully  I  have  proved  it !  " 

And  that  night  in  the  quiet  darkness  of  his  own  little 
room,  he  folded  his  worn  hands  and  prayed — 

"  Oh  God,  before  whom  I  appear  as  a  wasted  life,  spent 
with  toil  in  getting  what  is  not  worth  the  gaining,  and  that 
only  seems  as  dross  in  Thy  sight! — Give  me  sufficient  time 
and  strength  to  show  my  gratefulness  to  Thee  for  Thy  mercy 
in  permitting  me  to  know  the  sweetness  of  Love  at  last,  and 
in  teaching  me  to  understand,  through  Thy  guidance,  that 
those  who  may  seem  to  us  the  unconsidered  and  lowly  in 
this  world,  are  often  to  be  counted  among  Thy  dearest 
creatures!  Grant  me  but  this,  O  God,  and  death  when  it 
comes,  shall  find  me  ready  and  resigned  to  Thy  Will !  " 

Thus  he  murmured  half  aloud, — and  in  the  wonderful 
restfulness  which  he  obtained  by  the  mere  utterance  of  his 
thoughts  to  the  Divine  Source  of  all  good,  closed  his  eyes 
with  a  sense  of  abiding  joy,  and  slept  peacefully. 


CHAPTER     XVIII 

AND  now  by  slow  and  beautiful  degrees  the  cold  and  naked 
young  year  grew  warm,  and  expanded  from  weeping,  shiver- 
ing infancy  into  the  delighted  consciousness  of  happy  child- 
hood. The  first  snowdrops,  the  earliest  aconites,  perked  up 
their  pretty  heads  in  Mary's  cottage  garden,  and  through- 
out all  nature  there  came  that  inexplicable,  indefinite,  soft 
pulsation  of  new  life  and  new  love  which  we  call  the  spring. 
Tiny  buds,  rosy  and  shining  with  sap,  began  to  gleam  like 
rough  jewels  on  every  twig  and  tree — a  colony  of  rooks 
which  had  abode  in  the  elms  surrounding  Weircombe 
Church,  started  to  make  great  ado  about  their  housekeeping, 
and  kept  up  as  much  jabber  as  though  they  were  inaugurat- 
ing an  Irish  night  in  the  House  of  Commons, — and,  over  a 
more  or  less  tranquil  sea,  the  gulls  poised  lightly  on  the 
heaving  waters  in  restful  attitudes,  as  though  conscious  that 
the  stress  of  winter  was  past.  To  look  at  Weircombe  .vil- 
lage as  it  lay  peacefully  aslant  down  the  rocky  "  coombe,"  no 
one  would  have  thought  it  likely  to  be  a  scene  of  silent,  but 
none  the  less  violent,  internal  feud ;  yet  such  nevertheless 
was  the  case,  and  all  the  trouble  had  arisen  since  the  first 
Sunday  of  the  first  month  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Arbroath's 
"  taking  duty  "  in  the  parish.  On  that  day  six  small  choir- 
boys had  appeared  in  the  Church,  together  with  a  tall  lanky 
youth  in  a  black  gown  and  white  surplice — and  to  the 
stupefied  amazement  of  the  congregation,  the  lanky  youth 
had  carried  a  gilt  cross  round  the  Church,  followed  by 
Arbroath  himself  and  the  six  little  boys,  all  chanting  in  a 
manner  such  as  the  Weircombe  folk  had  never  heard  before. 
It  was  a  deeply  resented  innovation,  especially  as  the  six 
little  boys  and  the  lanky  cross-bearer,  as  well  as  the  cross 
itself,  had  been  mysteriously  "  hired  "  from  somewhere  by 
Mr.  Arbroath,  and  were  altogether  strange  to  the  village. 
Common  civility,  as  well  as  deeply  rooted  notions  of  "  de- 
cency and  order,"  kept  the  parishioners  in  their  seats  during 
what  they  termed  the  "  play-acting  "  which  took  place  on 
this  occasion,  but  when  they  left  the  Church  and  went  their 
several  ways,  they  all  resolved  on  the  course  they  meant  to 

297 


298      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

adopt  with  the  undesired  introduction  of  "  'Igh  Jinks  "  for 
the  future.  And  from  that  date  henceforward  not  one  of  the 
community  attended  Church.  Sunday  after  Sunday,  the 
bells  rang  in  vain.  Mr.  Arbroath  conducted  the  service 
solely  for  Mrs.  Arbroath  and  for  one  ancient  villager  who 
acted  the  double  part  of  sexton  and  verger,  and  whose  duties 
therefore  compelled  him  to  remain  attached  to  the  sacred 
edifice.  And  the  people  read  their  morning  prayers  in  their 
own  houses  every  Sunday,  and  never  stirred  out  on  that 
day  till  after  their  dinners.  In  vain  did  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Arbroath  run  up  and  down  the  little  village  street,  calling 
at  every  house,  coaxing,  cajoling,  and  promising, — they 
spoke  to  deaf  ears.  Nothing  they  could  say  or  do  made 
amends  for  the  "  insult "  to  which  the  parishioners  consid- 
ered they  had  been  subjected,  by  the  sudden  appearance  of 
six  strange  choir-boys  and  the  lanky  youth  in  a  black  gown, 
who  had  carried  a  gilt  cross  round  and  round  the  tiny 
precincts  of  their  simple  little  Church,  which, — until  the 
occurrence  of  this  remarkable  "  mountebank  "  performance 
as  they  called  it, — had  been  everything  to  them  that  was 
sacred  in  its  devout  simplicity.  Finally,  in  despair,  Mr. 
Arbroath  wrote  a  long  letter  of  complaint  to  the  Bishop  of 
the  diocese,  and  after  a  considerable  time  of  waiting,  was 
informed  by  the  secretary  of  that  gentleman  that  the  matter 
would  be  enquired  into,  but  that  in  the  meantime  he  had 
better  conduct  the  Sunday  services  in  the  manner  to  which 
the  parishioners  had  been  accustomed.  This  order  Arbroath 
flatly  refused  to  obey,  and  there  ensued  a  fierce  polemical 
correspondence,  during  which  the  Church  remained,  as  has 
been  stated,  empty  of  worshippers  altogether.  Casting 
about  for  reasons  which  should  prove  some  contumacious 
spirit  to  be  the  leader  of  this  rebellion,  Arbroath  attacked 
Mary  Deane  among  others,  and  asked  her  if  she  was  "  a 
regular  Communicant."  To  which  she  calmly  replied — 

"  No,  sir." 

"And  why  are  you  not?"  demanded  the  clergyman 
imperiously. 

"  Because  I  do  not  feel  like  it,"  she  said ;  "  I  do  not  believe 
in  going  to  Communion  unless  one  really  feels  the  spiritual 
wish  and  desire." 

"  Oh !  Then  that  is  to  say  that  you  are  very  seldom 
Conscious  of  any  spiritual  wish  or  desire  ?  " 

She  was  silent. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   299 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you !  "  And  Arbroath  shook  his  bullet 
head  dismally.  "  You  are  one  of  the  unregenerate,  and  if 
you  do  not  amend  your  ways  will  be  among  the  lost " 

" '  I  tell  thee,  churlish  priest,  A  ministering  angel  shall 
my  sister  be,  when  thou  liest  howling!'1'  said  Helmsley 
suddenly. 

Arbroath  turned  upon  him  sharply. 

"What's  that?"  he  snarled. 

"  Shakespeare !  "  and  Helmsley  smiled. 

"  Shakespeare !  Much  you  know  about  Shakespeare !  " 
snapped  out  the  irritated  clergyman.  "  But  atheists  and 
ruffians  always  quote  Shakespeare  as  glibly  as  they  quote 
the  New  Testament !  " 

"  It's  lucky  that  atheists  and  ruffians  have  got  such  gooa 
authorities  to  quote  from,"  said  Helmsley  placidly. 

Arbroath  gave  an  impatient  exclamation,  and  again  ad- 
dressed Mary. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  to  Church  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  raised  her  calm  blue  eyes  and  regarded  him  stead- 
fastly. 

"  I  don't  like  the  way  you  conduct  the  service,  sir,  and 
I  don't  take  you  altogether  for  a  Christian." 

"  What !  "  And  he  stared  at  her  so  furiously  that  his 
little  pig  eyes  grew  almost  large  for  the  moment — "  You 
don't  take  me — me — for  a  Christian?" 

"  No,  sir, — not  altogether.  You  are  too  hard  and  too 
proud.  You  are  not  careful  of  us  poor  folk,  and  you  don't 
seem  to  mind  whether  you  hurt  our  feelings  or  not.  We're 
only  very  humble  simple  people  here  in  Weircombe,  but 
we're  not  accustomed  to  being  ordered  about  as  if  we  were 
children,  or  as  if  our  parson  was  a  Romish  priest  wanting 
to  get  us  all  under  his  thumb.  We  believe  in  God  with  all 
our  hearts  and  souls,  and  we  love  the  dear  gentle  Saviour 
who  came  to  show  us  how  to  live  and  how  to  die, — but  we 
like  to  pray  as  we've  always  been  accustomed  to  pray,  just 
without  any  show,  as  our  Lord  taught  us  to  do,  not  using 
any  '  vain  repetitions.'  " 

Helmsley,  who  was  bending  some  stiff  osiers  in  his  hands, 
paused  to  listen.  Arbroath  stared  gloomily  at  the  noble, 
thoughtful  face  on  which  there  was  just  now  an  inspired 
expression  of  honesty  and  truth  which  almost  shamed  him. 

"  I  think,"  went  on  Mary,  speaking  very  gently  and  mod- 
estly— "  that  if  we  read  the  New  Testament,  we  shall  find 


300      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

that  our  Lord  expressly  forbade  all  shows  and  ceremonies, — 
and  that  He  very  much  disliked  them.  Indeed,  if  we  strictly 
obeyed  all  His  orders,  we  should  never  be  seen  praying  in 
public  at  all !  Of  course  it  is  pleasant  and  human  for  people 
to  meet  together  in  some  place  and  worship  God — but  I 
think  such  a  meeting  should  be  quite  without  any  ostenta- 
tion— and  that  all  our  prayers  should  be  as  simple  as  possi- 
ble. Pray  excuse  me  if  I  speak  too  boldly — but  that  is  the 
spirit  and  feeling  of  most  of  the  Weircombe  folk,  and  they 
are  really  very  good,  honest  people." 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Arbroath  stood  inert  and  silent  for 
about  two  minutes,  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  her, — then,  with- 
out a  word,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  cottage.  And 
from  that  day  he  did  his  best  to  sow  small  seeds  of  scandal 
against  her, — scattering  half-implied  innuendoes, — faint 
"breathings  of  disparagement,  coarse  jests  as  to  her  "  old 
maid "  condition,  and  other  mean  and  petty  calumnies, 
which,  however,  were  all  so  much  wasted  breath  on  his 
part,  as  the  Weircombe  villagers  were  as  indifferent  to  his 
attempted  mischief  as  Mary  herself.  Even  with  the  feline 
assistance  of  Mrs.  Arbroath,  who  came  readily  to  her  hus- 
band's aid  in  his  capacity  of  "  downing  "  a  woman,  especially 
as  that  woman  was  so  much  better-looking  than  herself, 
nothing  of  any  importance  was  accomplished  in  the  way  of 
either  shaking  Mary's  established  position  in  the  estimation 
of  Weircombe,  or  of  persuading  the  parishioners  to  a  "  'Igh 
Jink  "  view  of  religious  matters.  Indeed,  on  this  point  they 
were  inflexible,  and  as  Mrs.  Twitt  remarked  on  one  occa- 
sion, with  a  pious  rolling-up  of  the  whites  of  her  eyes — 

"  To  see  that  little  black  man  with  the  'igh  stomach 
a-walkin'  about  this  village  is  enough  to  turn  a  baby's  bottle 
sour !  It  don't  seem  nat'ral  like — he's  as  different  from  our 
good  old  parson  as  a  rat  is  from  a  bird,  an'  you'll  own,  Mis' 
Deane,  as  there's  a  mighty  difference  between  they  two  sorts 
of  insecks.  An'  that  minds  me,  on  the  Saturday  night  afore 
they  got  the  play-actin'  on  up  in  the  Church,  the  wick  o'  my 
candle  guttered  down  in  a  windin'  sheet  as  long  as  long, 
an'  I  sez  to  Twitt — '  There  you  are !  Our  own  parson's 
gone  an'  died  over  in  Madery,  an'  we'll  never  'ave  the  likes 
of  'im  no  more!  There's  trouble  comin'  for  the  Church, 
you  mark  my  words.'  An'  Twitt,  'e  says,  '  G'arn,  old 
'ooman,  it's  the  draught  blowin'  in  at  the  door  as  makes  the 
candle  gutter/ — but  all  the  same  my  words  'as  come  true ! '' 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   301 

"  Why  no,  surely  not !  "  said  Mary,  "  Our  parson  isn't 
dead  in  Madeira  at  all !  The  Sunday-school  mistress  had  a 
letter  from  him  only  yesterday  saying  how  much  better  he 
felt,  and  that  he  hoped  to  be  home  again  with  us  very  soon." 

Mrs.  Twitt  pursed  her  lips  and  shook  her  head. 

"  That  may  be !  "  she  observed — "  I  aint  a-sayin'  nuthin* 
again  it.  I  sez  to  Twitt,  there's  trouble  comin'  for  the 
Church,  an'  so  there  is.  An'  the  windin'  sheet  in  the  candle 
means  a  death  for  somebody  somewhere ! " 

Mary  laughed,  though  her  eyes  were  a  little  sad  and 
wistful. 

"  Well,  of  course,  there's  always  somebody  dying  some- 
where, they  say ! "  And  sb.e  sighed.  "  There's  a  good 
deal  of  grief  in  the  world  that  nobody  ever  sees  or  hears  of." 

"  True  enough,  Mis'  Deane ! — true  enough !  "  And  Mrs. 
Twitt  shook  her  head  again — "  But  ye're  spared  a  deal  o* 
worrit,  seein'  ye  'aven't  a  husband  nor  childer  to  drive  ye 
silly.  When  I  'ad  my  three  boys  at  'ome  I  never  know'd 
whether  I  was  on  my  'ed  or  my  'eels,  they  kept  up  such  a 
racket  an'  torment,  but  the  Lord  be  thanked  they're  all  out 
an'  doin'  for  theirselves  in  the  world  now — forbye  the  eldest 
is  thinkin'  o'  marryin'  a  girl  I've  never  seen,  down  in  Corn- 
wall, which  is  where  'e  be  a-workin'  in  tin  mines,  an'  when 
I  'eerd  as  'ow  'e  was  p'raps  a-goin'  to  tie  hisself  up  in  the 
bonds  o'  matterimony,  I  stepped  out  in  the  garden  just 
casual  like,  an'  if  you'll  believe  me,  I  sees  a  magpie !  Now, 
Mis'  Deane,  magpies  is  total  strangers  on  these  coasts — no 
one  as  I've  ever  'card  tell  on  'as  ever  seen  one — an'  they's 
the  unlikeliest  and  unluckiest  birds  to  come  across  as  ever 
the  good  God  created.  An'  of  course  I  knows  if  my  boy 
marries  that  gel  in  Cornwall,  it'll  be  the  worst  chance  and 
change  for  'im  that  'e's  'ad  ever  since  'e  was  born!  That 
magpie  corned  'ere  to  warn  me  of  it !  " 

Mary  tried  to  look  serious,  but  Helmsley  was  listening 
to  the  conversation,  and  she  caught  the  mirthful  glance 
of  his  eyes.  So  she  laughed,  and  taking  Mrs.  Twitt  by 
the  shoulders,  kissed  her  heartily  on  both  cheeks. 

"  You're  a  dear !  "  she  said — "And  I'll  believe  in  the 
magpie  if  you  want  me  to!  But  all  the  same,  I  don't 
think  any  mischief  is  coming  for  your  son  or  for  you.  I 
like  to  hope  that  everything  happening  in  this  world  is  for 
the  best,  and  that  the  good  God  means  kindly  to  all  of  us. 
Don't  you  think  that's  the  right  way  to  live  ?  " 


302      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  It  may  be  the  right  way  to  live,"  replied  Mrs.  Twitt, 
with  a  doubtful  air — "  But  there's  ter'uble  things  allus  'ap- 
penin',  an'  I  sez  if  warnings  is  sent  to  us  even  out  o'  the 
mouths  o'  babes  and  sucklings,  let's  accept  'em  in  good 
part.  An'  if  so  be  a  magpie  is  chose  by  the  Lord  as  a  mes- 
senger we'se  fools  if  we  despises  the  magpie.  But  that  little 
paunchy  Arbroath's  worse  than  a  whole  flock  o'  magpies 
comin'  together,  an'  'e's  actin'  like  a  pestilence  in  keepin' 
decent  folk  away  from  their  own  Church.  'Owsomever, 
Twitt  reads  prayers  every  Sunday  mornin',  an'  t'other  day 
Mr.  Reay  came  in  an'  'eerd  'im.  An'  Mr.  Reay  sez — '  Twitt, 
ye're  better  than  any  parson  I  ever  'eerd ! '  An'  I  believe  'e 
is — 'e's  got  real  'art  an'  feelin'  for  Scripter  texes,  an'  sez 
'em  just  as  solemn  as  though  'e  was  carvin'  'em  on  tomb- 
stones. It's  powerful  movin' !  " 

Mary  kept  a  grave  face,  but  said  nothing. 

"An'  last  Sunday,"  went  on  Mrs.  Twitt,  encouraged, 
"  Mr.  Reay  hisself  read  us  a  chapter  o'  the  New  Tesymen. 
an'  'twas  fine!  Twitt  an'  me,  we  felt  as  if  we  could  'a 
served  the  Lord  faithful  to  the  end  of  the  world!  An'  we 
'ardly  ever  feels  like  that  in  Church.  In  Church  they  reads 
the  words  so  sing-songy  like,  that,  bein'  tired,  we  goes  to 
sleep  wi'  the  soothin'  drawl.  But  Mr.  Reay,  he  kep'  us  wide 
awake  an'  starin'!  An'  there's  one  tex  which  sticks  in  my 
'ed  an'  comforts  me  for  myself  an'  for  everybody  in  trouble 
as  I  ever  'eerd  on " 

"And  what's  that,  Mrs.  Twitt  ?  "  asked  Helmsley,  turning 
round  in  his  chair,  that  he  might  see  her  better. 

"  It's  this,  Mister  David,"  and  Mrs.  Twitt  drew  a  long 
breath  in  preparation  before  beginning  the  quotation, — "  an' 
it's  beautiful !  '  If  the  world  hate  you,  ye  know  that  it  hated 
Me  before  it  hated  you.'  Now  if  that  aint  enuff  to  send  us 
on  our  way  rejoicin',  I  don't  know  what  is!  For  Lord 
knows  if  the  dear  Christ  was  hated,  we  can  put  up  wi'  a  bit 
o'  the  hate  for  ourselves !  " 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  So  Mr.  Reay  reads  very  well,  does  he  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"  Fine !  "  said  Mrs.  Twitt,—"  'E's  a  lovely  man  with  a 
lovely  voice !  If  'e'd  bin  a  parson  'e'd  'a  drawed  thousands 
to  'ear  'im!  'E  wouldn't  'a  wanted  crosses  nor  candles  to 
show  us  as  'e  was  speakin'  true.  Twitt  sez  to  'im  t'other 
day — '  Why  aint  you  a  parson,  Mr.  Reay  ?  '  an'  'e  sez,  '  Cos 
I'm  goin'  to  be  a  preacher ! '  An'  we  couldn't  make  this 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   303 

out  nohow,  till  'e  showed  us  as  'ow  'e  was  a-goin'  to  tell 
people  things  as  they  ought  to  know  in  the  book  'e's  writin'. 
An'  'e  sez  it's  the  only  way,  cos  the  parsons  is  gettin'  so 
uppish,  an'  the  Pope  'as  got  'old  o'  some  o'  the  newspapers, 
so  that  there  aint  no  truth  told  nowheres,  unless  a  few 
writers  o'  books  will  take  'art  o'  grace  an'  speak  out.  An' 
'e  sez  there's  a  many  as  '11  do  it,  an'  he  tells  Twitt — '  Twitt, 
sez  he,  '  Pin  your  faith  on  brave  books !  Beware  o'  news- 
papers, an'  fight  off  the  priest !  Read  brave  books — books 
that  were  written  centuries  ago  to  teach  people  courage — an' 
read  brave  books  that  are  written  now  to  keep  courage 
goin' ! '  An'  we  sez,  so  we  will — for  books  is  cheap  enuff, 
God  knows ! — an'  only  t'other  day  Twitt  went  over  to  Mine- 
head  an'  bought  a  new  book  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  called  Guy 
Mannering  for  ninepence.  It's  a  grand  story !  an'  keeps  us 
alive  every  evenin'I  I'm  just  mad  on  that  old  woman  in 
it — Meg  Merrilies — she  knew  a  good  deal  as  goes  on  in  the 
world,  I'll  warrant!  All  about  signs  an'  omens  too.  It's 
just  fine !  I'd  like  to  see  Sir  Walter  Scott !  " 

"  He's  dead,"  said  Mary,  "  dead  long  ago.  But  he  was 
a  good  as  well  as  a  great  man." 

"'E  must  'a  bin,"  agreed  Mrs.  Twitt;  "I'm  right  sorry 
'e's  dead.  Some  folks  die  as  is  bound  to  be  missed,  an'  some 
folks  lives  on  as  one  'ud  be  glad  to  see  in  their  long  'ome 
peaceful  at  rest,  forbye  their  bein'  born  so  grumblesome  like. 
Twitt  'ud  be  at  'is  best  composin'  a  hepitaph  for  Mr. 
Arbroath  now ! " 

As  she  said  this  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  which  usually 
drooped  in  somewhat  lachrymose  lines,  went  up  in  a  whim- 
sical smile.  And  feeling  that  she  had  launched  a  shaft  of 
witticism  which  could  not  fail  to  reach  its  mark,  she  trotted 
off  on  further  gossiping  errands  bent. 

The  tenor  of  her  conversation  was  repeated  to  Angus 
Reay  that  afternoon  when  he  arrived,  as  was  often 
his  custom,  for  what  was  ostensibly  "  a  chat  with  old 
David,"  but  what  was  really  a  silent,  watchful  worship 
of  Mary. 

"  She  is  a  dear  old  soul !  "  he  said,  "  and  Twitt  is  a  rough 
diamond  of  British  honesty.  Such  men  as  he  keep  the  old 
country  together  and  help  to  establish  its  reputation  for  in- 
tegrity. But  that  man  Arbroath  ought  to  be  kicked  out  of 
the  Church !  In  fact,  I  as  good  as  told  him  so !  " 

"  You    did ! "     And    Helmsley's    sunken    eyes   began   to 


304      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

sparkle  with  sudden  animation.  "  Upon  my  word,  sir,  you 
are  very  bold !  " 

"  Bold  ?  Why,  what  can  he  do  to  me  ? "  demanded 
Angus.  "  I  told  him  I  had  been  for  some  years  on  the 
press,  and  that  I  knew  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  Jesuit  propa- 
ganda there.  I  told  him  he  was  false  to  the  principles  under 
which  he  had  been  ordained.  I  told  him  that  he  was  assist- 
ing to  introduce  the  Romish  '  secret  service '  system  into 
Great  Britain,  and  that  he  was,  with  a  shameless  disregard 
of  true  patriotism,  using  such  limited  influence  as  he  had  to 
put  our  beloved  free  country  under  the  tyranny  of  the 
Vatican.  I  said,  that  if  ever  I  got  a  hearing  with  the 
British  public,  I  meant  to  expose  him,  and  all  such  similar 
wolves  in  sheep's  clothing  as  himself." 

"  But — what  did  he  say  ?  "  asked  Mary  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  he  turned  livid,  and  then  told  me  I  was  an  atheist, 
adding  that  nearly  all  writers  of  books  were  of  the  same 
evil  persuasion  as  myself.  I  said  that  if  I  believed  that  the 
Maker  of  Heaven  and  Earth  took  any  pleasure  in  seeing  him 
perambulate  a  church  with  a  cross  and  six  wretched  little 
boys  who  didn't  understand  a  bit  what  they  were  doing,  I 
should  be  an  atheist  indeed.  I  furthermore  told  him  I  be- 
lieved in  God,  who  upheld  this  glorious  Universe  by  the 
mere  expressed  power  of  His  thought,  and  I  said  I  believed 
in  Christ,  the  Teacher  who  showed  to  men  that  the  only 
way  to  obtain  immortal  life  and  happiness  was  by  the  con- 
quest of  Self.  '  You  may  call  that  atheistical  if  you  like/ 
I  said, — '  It's  a  firm  faith  that  will  help  to  keep  me  straight, 
and  that  will  hold  me  to  the  paths  of  right  and  truth  without 
any  crosses  or  candles.'  Then  I  told  him  that  this  little 
village  of  Weircombe,  in  its  desire  for  simplicity  in  forms 
of  devotion,  was  nearer  heaven  than  he  was.  And — and  I 
think,"  concluded  Angus,  ruffling  up  his  hair  with  one  hand, 
"  that's  about  all  I  told  him !  " 

Helmsley  gave  a  low  laugh  of  intense  enjoyment. 

"  All !  "  he  echoed,  "  I  should  say  it  was  enough !  " 

"  I  hope  it  was,"  said  Angus  seriously,  "  I  meant  it  to  be." 
And  moving  to  Mary's  side,  he  took  up  the  end  of  a  lace 
flounce  on  which  she  was  at  work.  "  What  a  creation  in 
cobwebs !  "  he  exclaimed — "  Who  does  it  belong  to,  Miss 
Mary?" 

"  To  a  very  great  lady,"  she  replied,  working  busily  with 
her  needle  and  avoiding  the  glance  of  his  eyes ;  "  her  name 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   305 

is  often  in  the  papers."  And  she  gave  it.  "  No  doubt  you 
know  her  ?  " 

"  Know  her?  Not  I!  "  And  he  shrugged  his  shoulders 
disdainfully.  "  But  she  is  very  generally  known — as  a  thor- 
oughly bad  woman !  I  hate  to  see  you  working  on  anything 
for  her!" 

She  looked  up  surprised,  and  the  colour  came  and  went 
in  a  delicate  flush  on  her  face. 

"  False  to  her  husband,  false  to  her  children,  and  false 
to  herself!"  went  on  Angus  hotly — "And  disloyal  to  her 
king!  And  having  turned  on  her  own  family  and  her  own 
class,  she  seeks  to  truckle  to  the  People  under  pretence  of 
serving  them,  while  all  the  time  her  sole  object  is  to  secure 
notoriety  for  herself !  She  is  a  shame  to  England !  " 

"  You  speak  very  hotly,  sir ! "  said  Helmsley,  slowly. 
"Are  you  sure  of  your  facts  ?  " 

"  The  facts  are  not  concealed,"  returned  Reay — "  They 
are  public  property.  That  no  one  has  the  courage  to  de- 
nounce such  women — women  who  openly  flaunt  their  im- 
moralities in  our  midst — is  a  bad  sign  of  the  times.  Women 
are  doing  a  great  deal  of  mischief  just  now.  Look  at  them 
fussing  about  Female  Suffrage !  Female  Suffrage,  quotha ! 
Let  them  govern  their  homes  properly,  wisely,  reasonably, 
and  faithfully,  and  they  will  govern  the  nation !  " 

"  That's  true !  "  And  Helmsley  nodded  gravely.  "  That's 
very  true ! " 

"A  woman  who  really  loves  a  man,"  went  on  Angus, 
mechanically  fingering  the  skeins  of  lace  thread  which  lay 
on  the  table  at  Mary's  side,  ready  for  use — "  governs  him, 
unconsciously  to  herself,  by  the  twin  powers  of  sex  and 
instinct.  She  was  intended  for  his  help-mate,  to  guide  him 
in  the  right  way  by  her  finer  forces.  If  she  neglects  to  cul- 
tivate these  finer  forces — if  she  tramples  on  her  own  natural 
heritage,  and  seeks  to  '  best '  him  with  his  own  weapons — 
she  fails — she  must  fail — she  deserves  to  fail !  But  as  true 
wife  and  true  mother,  she  is  supreme !  " 

"  But  the  ladies  are  not  content  with  such  a  limited 
sphere,"  began  Helmsley,  with  a  little  smile. 

"  Limited  ?  Good  God ! — where  does  the  limit  come  in  ?  " 
demanded  Reay.  "  It  is  because  they  are  not  sufficiently 
educated  to  understand  their  own  privileges  that  women 
complain  of  limitations.  An  unthinking,  unreasoning,  un- 
intelligent wife  and  mother  is  of  course  no  higher  than  any 


306      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

other  female  of  the  animal  species — but  I  do  not  uphold  this 
class.  I  claim  that  the  woman  who  thinks,  and  gives  her 
intelligence  full  play — the  woman  who  is  physically  sound 
and  morally  pure — the  woman  who  devoutly  studies  the 
noblest  side  of  life,  and  tries  to  bring  herself  into  unison 
with  the  Divine  intention  of  human  progress  towards  the 
utmost  good — she,  as  wife  and  mother,  is  the  angel  of  the 
world.  She  is  the  world! — she  makes  it,  she  rejuvenates  it, 
she  gives  it  strength !  Why  should  she  condescend  to  mix 
with  the  passing  political  squabbles  of  her  slaves  and  chil- 
dren?— for  men  are  no  more  than  her  slaves  and  children. 
Love  is  her  weapon — one  true  touch  of  that,  and  the  wildest 
heart  that  ever  beat  in  a  man's  breast  is  tamed." 

There  was  a  silence.  Suddenly  Mary  pushed  aside  her 
work,  and  going  to  the  door  opened  it. 

"  It's  so  warm  to-day,  don't  you  think?  "  she  asked,  pass- 
ing her  hand  a  little  wearily  across  her  forehead.  "  One 
would  think  it  was  almost  June." 

"  You  are  tired,  Miss  Mary ! "  said  Reay,  somewhat 
anxiously. 

"  No — I'm  not  tired — but  " — here  all  at  once  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  "  I've  got  a  bit  of  a  headache,"  she  mur- 
mured, forcing  a  smile — "  I  think  I'll  go  to  my  room  and 
rest  for  half  an  hour.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Reay !  " 

"  Good-bye — for  the  moment !  "  he  answered — and  taking 
her  hand  he  pressed  it  gently.  "  I  hope  the  headache  will 
soon  pass." 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  quickly  and  left  the 
kitchen.  Angus  watched  her  go,  and  when  she  had  dis- 
appeared heaved  an  involuntary  but  most  lover-like  sigh. 
Helmsley  looked  at  him  with  a  certain  whimsical  amuse- 
ment. 

"Well!  "he  said. 

Reay  gave  himself  a  kind  of  impatient  shake. 

'  Well,  old  David !  "  he  rejoined. 

'  Why  don't  you  speak  to  her  ?  " 

'  I  dare  not !     I'm  too  poor !  " 

'  Is  she  so  rich  ?  " 

'  She's  richer  than  I  am." 

'  It  is  quite  possible,"  said  Helmsley  slowly,  "  that  she 
will  always  be  richer  than  you.  Literary  men  must  never 
expect  to  be  millionaires." 

"  Don't  tell  me  that — I  know  it !  "  and  Angus  laughed. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   307 

"  Besides,  I  don't  want  to  be  a  millionaire — wouldn't  be  one 
for  the  world !  By  the  way,  you  remember  that  man  I  told 
you  about — the  old  chap  my  first  love  was  going  to  marry — 
David  Helmsley?" 

Helmsley  did  not  move  a  muscle. 

"  Yes — I  remember !  "  he  answered  quietly. 

"  Well,  the  papers  say  he's  dead." 

"  Oh  !  the  papers  say  he's  dead,  do  they  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  appeared  that  he  went  abroad  last  summer, — it 
is  thought  that  he  went  to  the  States  on  some  matters  of 
business — and  has  not  since  been  heard  of." 

Helmsley  kept  an  immovable  face. 

"  He  may  possibly  have  got  murdered  for  his  money," 
went  on  Angus  reflectively—"  though  I  don't  see  how  such 
an  act  could  benefit  the  murderer.  Because  his  death 
wouldn't  stop  the  accumulation  of  his  millions,  which  would 
eventually  go  to  his  heir." 

"  Has  he  an  heir?  "  enquired  Helmsley  placidly. 

"  Oh,  he's  sure  to  have  left  his  vast  fortune  to  somebody," 
replied  Reay.  "  He  had  two  sons,  so  I  was  told — but  they're 
dead.  It's  possible  he  may  have  left  everything  to  Lucy 
Sorrel." 

'  Ah  yes !    Quite  possible !  " 

"  Of  course,"  went  on  Reay,  "  it's  only  the  newspapers 
that  say  he's  dead — and  there  never  was  a  newspaper  yet 
that  could  give  an  absolutely  veracious  account  of  anything. 
His  lawyers — a  famous  firm,  Vesey  and  Symonds, — have 
written  a  sort  of  circular  letter  to  the  press  stating  that  the 
report  of  his  death  is  erroneous — that  he  is  travelling  for 
health's  sake,  and  on  account  of  a  desire  for  rest  and  pri- 
vacy, does  not  wish  his  whereabouts  to  be  made  publicly 
known." 

Helmsley  smiled. 

"  I  knew  I  might  trust  Vesey !  "  he  thought.  Aloud  he 
said — 

"  Well,  I  should  believe  the  gentleman's  lawyers  more 
than  the  newspaper  reporters.  Wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  I  shouldn't  have  taken  the  least  interest 
in  the  rumour,  if  I  hadn't  been  once  upon  a  time  in  love 
with  Lucy  Sorrel.  Because  if  the  old  man  is  really  dead 
and  has  done  nothing  in  the  way  of  providing  for  her,  I 
wonder  what  she  will  do?  " 

"  Go  out  charing !  "  said  Helmsley  drily.     "  Many  a  better 


308      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

woman  than  you  have  described  her  to  be,  has  had  to  come 
to  that." 

There  was  a  silence.  Presently  Helmsley  spoke  again  in 
a  quiet  voice — 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Reay,  you  should  tell  all  your  mind  to  Miss 
Mary." 

Angus  started  nervously. 

"Do  you,  David?    Why?" 

"  Why  ? — well — because — "  Here  Helmsley  spoke  very 
gently — "  because  I  believe  she  loves  you !  " 

The  colour  kindled  in  Reay's  face. 

"Ah,  don't  fool  me,  David !  "  he  said — "  you  don't  know 
what  it  would  mean  to  me " 

"  Fool  you !  "  Helmsley  sat  upright  in  his  chair  and  looked 
at  him  with  an  earnestness  which  left  no  room  for  doubt. 
"  Do  you  think  I  would  '  fool '  you,  or  any  man,  on  such 
a  matter?  Old  as  I  am,  and  lonely  and  friendless  as  I  was, 
before  I  met  this  dear  woman,  I  know  that  love  is  the  most 
sacred  of  all  things — the  most  valuable  of  all  things — better 
than  gold — greater  than  power — the  only  treasure  we  can 
lay  up  in  heaven  '  where  neither  moth  nor  rust  do  corrupt, 
and  where  thieves  do  not  break  through  nor  steal ! '  Do 
not " — and  here  his  strong  emotion  threatened  to  get  the 
better  of  him — "  do  not,  sir,  think  that  because  I  was  tramp- 
ing the  road  in  search  of  a  friend  to  help  me,  before  Miss 
Mary  found  me  and  brought  me  home  here  and  saved  my 
life,  God  bless  her! — do  not  think,  I  say,  that  I  have  no 
feeling!  I  feel  very  much — very  strongly — "  He  broke 
off  breathing  quickly,  and  his  hands  trembled.  Reay 
hastened  to  his  side  in  some  alarm,  remembering  what  Mary 
had  told  him  about  the  old  man's  heart. 

"  Dear  old  David,  I  know !  "  he  said.  "  Don't  worry ! 
I  know  you  feel  it  all — I'm  sure  you  do !  Now,  for  good- 
ness' sake,  don't  excite  yourself  like  this — she — she'll  never 
forgive  me !  "  and  he  shook  up  the  cushion  at  the  back  of 
Helmsley's  chair  and  made  him  lean  upon  it.  "  Only  it 
would  be  such  a  joy  to  me — such  a  wonder — such  a  help — 
to  know  that  she  really  loved  me! — loved  me,  David! — 
you  understand — why,  I  think  I  could  conquer  the 
world !  " 

Helmsley  smiled  faintly.  He  was  suffering  physical  an- 
guish at  the  moment — the  old  sharp  pain  at  his  heart  to 
which  he  had  become  more  or  less  wearily  accustomed, 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   309 

had  dizzied  his  senses  for  a  space,  but  as  the  spasm  passed 
he  took  Reay's  hand  and  pressed  it  gently. 

"  What  does  the  Great  Book  tell  us?  "  he  muttered.  '"If 
a  man  would  give  all  the  substance  of  his  house  for  love, 
it  would  utterly  be  contemned ! '  That's  true !  And  I  would 
never  '  fool '  or  mislead  you  on  a  matter  of  such  life  and 
death  to  you,  Mr.  Reay.  That's  why  I  tell  you  to  speak 
to  Miss  Mary  as  soon  as  you  can  find  a  good  opportunity — 
for  I  am  sure  she  loves  you !  " 

"Sure,  David?" 

"Sure!" 

Reay  stood  silent, — his  eyes  shining,  and  "the  light  that 
never  was  on  sea  or  land  "  transfigured  his  features. 

At  that  moment  a  tap  came  at  the  door.  A  hand,  evi- 
dently accustomed  to  the  outside  management  of  the  latch, 
lifted  it,  and  Mr.  Twitt  entered,  his  rubicund  face  one  broad 
smile. 

"  'Afternoon,  David !  'Afternoon,  Mister !  Wheer's  Mis' 
Deane?" 

"  She's  resting  a  bit  in  her  room,"  replied  Helmsley. 

"  Ah,  well !  You  can  tell  'er  the  news  when  she  comes 
in.  Mr.  Arbroath's  away  for  'is  life  wi'  old  Nick  in  full 
chase  arter  'im !  It  don't  do  t'ave  a  fav'rite  gel !  " 

Helmsley  and  Reay  stared  at  him,  and  then  at  one  an- 
other. 

"  Why,  what's  up  ?  "  demanded  Reay. 

"  Oh,  nuthin'  much !  "  and  Twitt's  broad  shoulders  shook 
with  internal  laughter.  "  It's  wot  'appens  often  in  the 
fam'lies  o'  the  haris-to-crazy,  an'  aint  taken  no  notice  of, 
forbye  'tis  not  so  common  among  poor  folk.  Ye  see  Mr. 

Arbroath  he — he — he — he — he — he "  and  here  the 

pronoun  "  he "  developed  into  a  long  chuckle.  "  He's 
got  a  sweet'art  on  the  sly,  an' — an' — an' — 'is  wife's  found 
it  out!  Ha-ha-ha-he-he-he !  'Is  wife's  found  it  out !  That's 
the  trouble !  An'  she's  gone  an'  writ  to  the  Bishop  'erself ! 
Oh  lor' !  Never  trust  a  woman  wi'  cat's  eyes !  She's  writ 
to  the  Bishop,  an'  gone  'ome  in  a  tearin'  fit  o'  the  rantin* 
'igh-strikes, — an'  Mister  Arbroath  'e's  follerd  'er,  an'  left 
us  wi'  a  curate — a  'armless  little  chap  wi'  a  bad  cold  in 
'is  'ed,  an'  a  powerful  red.  nose — but  'onest  an'  'omely  like 
'is  own  face.  An'  'e'll  take  the  services  till  our  own  vicar 
comes  'ome,  which'll  be,  please  God,  this  day  fortwV/t/. 
But  oh  lor'! — to  think  o'  that  grey-'aired  rascal  Arbroath 


310      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

with  a  fav'rite  gel  on  the  sly!  Ha-ha-ha-he-he-he !  We'se 
be  all  mortal !  "  and  Twitt  shook  his  head  with  profound 
solemnity.  "  Ef  I  was  a-goin'  to  carve  a  tombstone  for  that 
'oly  'igh  Churchman,  I'd  write  on  it  the  old  'ackneyed  sayin', 
'  Man  wants  but  little  'ere  below,  Nor  wants  that  little 
long ! '  Ha-ha-ha-he-he-he !  " 

His  round  jolly  face  beamed  with  merriment,  and  Angus 
Reay  caught  infection  from  his  mirth  and  laughed  heartily. 

"  Twitt,  you're  an  old  rascal !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  really 
believe  you  enjoy  showing  up  Mr.  Arbroath's  little  weak- 
nesses !  " 

"  Not  I — not  I,  Mister !  "  protested  Twitt,  his  eyes  twin- 
kling. "  I  sez,  be  fair  to  all  men !  I  sez,  if  a  parson  wants 
to  chuck  a  gel  under  the  chin,  let  'im  do  so  by  all  means, 
God  willin' !  But  don't  let  'im  purtend  as  5e  couldn't  chuck 
'er  under  the  chin  for  the  hull  world!  Don't  let  'im  go 
round  lookin'  as  if  'e  was  vinegar  gone  bad,  an'  preach  at 
the  parish  as  if  we  was  all  mis'able  sinners  while  'e's  the 
mis'ablest  one  hisself.  But  old  Arbroath — damme !  "  and 
he  gave  a  sounding  slap  to  his  leg  in  sheer  ecstacy.  "  Caught 
in  the  act  by  'is  wife!  Oh  lor',  oh  lor'!  'Is  wife!  An' 
tint  she  a  tartar !  " 

"  But  how  did  all  this  happen  ?  "  asked  Helmsley,  amused. 

"  Why,  this  way,  David — quite  'appy  an'  innocent  like. 
Missis  Arbroath,  she  opens  a  letter  from  'ome,  which  'avin' 
glanced  at  the  envelope  casual-like  she  thinks  was  beggin' 
or  mothers'  meetin',  an'  there  she  finds  it  all  out.  Vicar's 
fav'rite  gel  writin'  for  money  or  clothes  or  summat,  an' 
endin'  up  '  Yer  own  darlin' ! '  Ha-ha-ha-he-he-he !  Oh 
Lord!  There  was  an  earthquake  up  at  the  rect'ry  this 
marnin' — the  cook  there  sez  she  never  'eerd  sich  a  row 
in  all  'er  life — an'  Missis  Arbroath  she  was  a-shriekin' 
for  a  divorce  at  the  top  of  'er  voice!  It's  a  small  place, 
Weircombe  Rect'ry,  an'  a  woman  can't  shriek  an'  'owl  in 
it  without  bein'  'eerd.  So  both  the  cook  an'  'ousemaid 
worn't  by  no  manner  o'  means  surprised  when  Mister  Ar- 
broath packed  'is  bag  an'  went  off  in  a  trap  to  Minehead 
— an'  we'll  be  left  with  a  cheap  curate  in  charge  of  our 
pore  souls!  Ha-ha-ha!  But  'e's  a  decent  little  chap, — an' 
there'll  be  no  'igh  falutin'  services  with  'im,  so  we  can  all 
go  to  Church  next  Sunday  comfortable.  An'  as  for  old 
Arbroath,  we'll  be  seein'  big  'edlines  in  the  papers  by  and 
by  about  '  Scandalous  Conduck  of  a  Clergyman  with  'is 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   311 

Fav'rite  Gel ! ' '  Here  he  made  an  effort  to  pull  a  grave- 
face,  but  it  was  no  use, — his  broad  smile  beamed  out  once 
more  despite  himself.  "  Arter  all,"  he  said,  chuckling,  "  the 
two  things  does  fit  in  nicely  together  an'  nat'ral  like — 'Igh 
Jinks  an'  a  fav'rite  gel !  " 

It  was  impossible  not  to  derive  a  sense  of  fun  from  his 
shining  eyes  and  beaming  countenance,  and  Angus  Reay 
gave  himself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment,  and 
laughed  again  and  again. 

"  So  you  think  he's  gone  altogether,  eh  ?  "  he  said,  when 
he  could  speak. 

"  Oh,  'e's  gone  all  right !  "  rejoined  Twitt  placidly.  "  A 
man  may  do  lots  o'  queer  things  in  this  world,  an'  so  long, 
as  'is  old  'ooman  don't  find  'im  out,  it's  pretty  fair  sailin' ; 
but  once  a  parson's  wife  gets  'er  nose  on  to  the  par- 
son's fav'rite,  then  all  the  fat's  bound  to  be  in  the  fire!' 
An'  quite  right  as  it  should  be!  I  wouldn't  bet  on  the 
fav'rite  when  it  come  to  a  neck-an'-neck  race  atween  the 
two !  " 

He  laughed  again,  and  they  all  talked  awhile  longer  on 
this  unexpected  event,  which,  to  such  a  village  as  Weir- 
combe,  was  one  of  startling  importance  and  excitement, 
and  then,  as  the  afternoon  was  drawing  in  and  Mary  did 
not  reappear,  Angus  Reay  took  his  departure  with  Twitt, 
leaving  Helmsley  sitting  alone  in  his  chair  by  the  fire.  But 
he  did  not  go  without  a  parting  word — a  word  which  was 
only  a  whisper. 

"  You  think  you  are  sure,  David !  "  he  said — "  Sure  that 
she  loves  me !  I  wish  you  would  make  doubly,  trebly  sure  I 
— for  it  seems  much  too  good  to  be  true !  " 

Helmsley  smiled,  but  made  no  answer. 

When  he  was  left  alone  in  the  little  kitchen  to  which  he 
was  now  so  accustomed,  he  sat  for  a  space  gazing  into 
the  red  embers  of  the  fire,  and  thinking  deeply.  He  had 
attained  what  he  never  thought  it  would  be  possible  to  at- 
tain— a  love  which  had  been  bestowed  upon  him  for  himself 
alone.  He  had  found  what  he  had  judged  would  be  impos- 
sible to  find — two  hearts  which,  so  far  as  he  personally  was 
concerned,  were  utterly  uninfluenced  by  considerations  of 
self-interest.  Both  Mary  Deane  and  Angus  Reay  looked 
upon  him  as  a  poor,  frail  old  man,  entirely  defenceless  and 
dependent  on  the  kindness  and  care  of  such  strangers  as 
sympathised  with  his  condition.  Could  they  now  be  sud- 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

<denly  told  that  he  was  the  millionaire,  David  Helmsley, 
-they  would  certainly  never  believe  it.  And  even  if  they 
-were  with  difficulty  brought  to  believe  it,  they  would  pos- 
•sibly  resent  the  deception  he  had  practised  on  them.  Some- 
times he  asked  himself  whether  it  was  quite  fair  or  right 
to  so  deceive  them?  But  then, — reviewing  his  whole  life, 
;and  seeing  how  at  every  step  of  his  career  men,  and  women 
too,  had  flattered  him  and  fawned  upon  him  as  well  as 
fooled  him  for  mere  money's  sake, — he  decided  that  surely 
he  had  the  right  at  the  approaching  end  of  that  career  to 
make  a  fair  and  free  trial  of  the  world  as  to  whether  any 
thing  or  any  one  purely  honest  could  be  found  in  it. 

"For  it  makes  me  feel  more  at  peace  with  God,"  he 
said — "  to  know  and  to  realise  that  there  are  unselfish  lov- 
ing hearts  to  be  found,  if  only  in  the  very  lowliest  walks  of 
life!  I, — who  have  seen  Society, — the  modern  Juggernaut, 
— rolling  its  great  wheels  recklessly  over  the  hopes  and 
joys  and  confidences  of  thousands  of  human  beings — I,  who 
know  that  even  kings,  who  should  be  above  dishonesty,  are 
tainted  by  their  secret  speculations  in  the  money-markets 
•of  the  world, — surely  I  may  be  permitted  to  rejoice  for 
my  few  remaining  days  in  the  finding  of  two  truthful  and 
simple  souls,  who  have  no  motive  for  their  kindness  to 
me, — who  see  nothing  in  me  but  age,  feebleness  and  pov- 
erty,— and  whom  I  have  perhaps  been  the  means,  through 
God's  guidance,  of  bringing  together.  For  it  was  to  me 
that  Reay  first  spoke  that  day  on  the  sea-shore — and  it 
was  at  my  request  that  he  first  entered  Mary's  home.  Can 
this  be  the  way  in  which  Divine  Wisdom  has  chosen  to 
redeem  me?  I, — who  have  never  been  loved  as  I  would 
have  desired  to  be  loved, — am  I  now  instructed  how, — 
leaving  myself  altogether  out  of  the  question, — I  may  pros- 
per the  love  of  others  and  make  two  noble  lives  happy? 
It  may  be  so, — and  that  in  the  foundation  of  their  joy,  I 
shall  win  my  own  soul's  peace!  So — leaving  my  treasures 
on  earth, — I  shall  find  my  treasure  in  heaven,  '  where  neither 
moth  nor  rust  doth  corrupt,  and  where  thieves  do  not  break 
through  nor  steal ! '  " 

Still  looking  at  the  fire  he  watched  the  glowing  embers, 
now  reddening,  now  darkening — or  leaping  up  into  sparks 
of  evanescent  flame, — and  presently  stooping,  picked  up  the 
little  dog  Charlie  from  his  warm  corner  on  the  hearth  and 
fondled  him. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   313 

"  You  were  the  first  to  love  me  in  my  loneliness ! "  he 
said,  stroking  the  tiny  animal's  soft  ears — "  And, — to  be 
quite  exact, — I  owe  my  life  and  all  my  present  surround- 
ings to  you,  Charlie!  What  shall  I  leave  you  in  my  will, 
eh?" 

Charlie  yawned  capaciously,  showing  very  white  teeth 
and  a  very  red  tongue,  and  winked  one  bright  eye. 

"  You're  only  a  dog,  Charlie !  You've  no  use  for  money ! 
You  rely  entirely  upon  your  own  attractiveness  and  the 
kindness  of  human  nature !  And  so  far  your  confidence 
has  not  been  misplaced.  But  your  fidelity  and  affection  are 
only  additional  proofs  of  the  powerlessness  of  money. 
Money  bought  you,  Charlie,  no  doubt,  in  the  first  place — 
but  money  failed  to  keep  you !  And  now,  though  by  your 
means  Mary  found  me  where  I  lay  helpless  and  unconscious 
on  the  hills  in  the  storm,  I  can  neither  make  you  richer  nor 
happier,  Charlie !  You're  only  a  dog ! — and  a  millionaire 
is  no  more  to  you  than  any  other  man !  " 

Charlie  yawned  comfortably  again.  He  seemed  to  be 
perfectly  aware  that  his  master  was  talking  to  him,  but 
what  it  was  about  he  evidently  did  not  know,  and  still 
more  evidently  did  not  care.  He  liked  to  be  petted  and 
made  much  of — and  presently  curled  himself  up  in  a  soft 
silken  ball  on  Helmsley's  knee,  with  his  little  black  nose 
pointed  towards  the  fire,  and  his  eyes  blinking  lazily  at  the 
sparkle  of  the  flames.  And  so  Mary  found  them,  when 
at  last  she  came  down  from  her  room  to  prepare  supper. 

"  Is  the  headache  better,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  Helmsley,  as 
she  entered. 

"  It's  quite  gone,  David ! "  she  answered  cheerily — 
"  Mending  the  lace  often  tries  one's  eyes — it  was  nothing 
but  that." 

He  looked  at  her  intently. 

"  But  you've  been  crying !  "  he  said,  with  real  concern. 

"  Oh,  David !  Women  always  cry  when  they  feel  like 
it!" 

"But  did  you  feel  like  it?" 

"  Yes.     I  often  do." 

"Why?" 

She  gave  a  playful  gesture  with  her  hands. 

"  Who  can  tell!  I  remember  when  I  was  quite  a  child, 
I  cried  when  I  saw  the  first  primrose  of  the  spring  after 
a  long  winter.  I  knelt  down  and  kissed  it,  too!  That's 


S14      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

me  all  over.  I'm  stupid,  David!  My  heart's  too  big  for 
me — and  there's  too  much  in  it  that  never  comes  out !  " 

He  took  her  hand  gently. 

"  All  shut  up  like  a  volcano,  Mary !  But  the  fire  is 
there!" 

She  laughed,  with  a  touch  of  embarrassment.  ' 

"  Oh  yes !  The  fire  is  there !  It  will  take  years  to  cool 
down !  "' 

"  May  it  never  cool  down !  "  said  Helmsley — "  I  hope  it 
will  always  burn,  and  make  life  warm  for  you !  For  with- 
out the  fire  that  is  in  your  heart,  my  dear,  Heaven  itself 
would  be  cold !  " 


THE  scandal  affecting  the  Reverend  Mr.  Arbroath's  repu- 
tation which  had  been  so  graphically  related  by  Twitt, 
turned  out  to  be  true  in  every  respect,  and  though  consider- 
able efforts  were  made  to  hush  it  up,  the  outraged  feelings 
of  the  reverend  gentleman's  wife  were  not  to  be  silenced. 
Proceedings  for  divorce  were  commenced,  and  it  was  un- 
derstood that  there  would  be  no  defence.  In  due  course  the 
"  big  'edlines  "  which  announced  to  the  world  in  general 
that  one  of  the  most  imperious  "  High  "  Anglicans  of  the 
Church  had  not  only  slipped  from  moral  rectitude,  but  had 
intensified  that  sin  by  his  publicly  aggressive  assumption 
of  hypocritical  virtue,  appeared  in  the  newspapers,  and  the 
village  of  Weircombe  for  about  a  week  was  brought  into 
a  certain  notoriety  which  was  distinctly  displeasing  to  itself. 
The  arrival  of  the  "  dailies  "  became  a  terror  to  it,  and  a 
general  feeling  of  devout  thankfulness  was  experienced  by 
the  whole  community,  when  the  rightful  spiritual  shepherd 
of  the  little  flock  returned  from  his  sojourn  abroad  to 
take  up  the  reigns  of  government,  and  restore  law  and  order 
to  his  tiny  distracted  commonwealth.  Fortunately  for  the 
peace  of  Weircombe,  the  frantic  rush  of  social  events,  and 
incidents  in  which  actual  "  news  "  of  interest  has  no  part, 
is  too  persistent  and  overwhelming  for  any  one  occurrence 
out  of  the  million  to  occupy  more  than  a  brief  passing  notice^ 
which  is  in  its  turn  soon  forgotten,  and  the  "  Scandalous 
Conduck  of  a  Clergyman,"  as  Mr.  Twitt  had  put  it,  was. 
soon  swept  aside  in  other  examples  of  "  Scandalous  Con- 
duck  "  among  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  and  women,, 
which,  caught  up  by  flying  Rumour  with  her  thousand 
false  and  blatant  tongues,  is  the  sort  of  useless  and  per- 
nicious stuff  which  chiefly  keeps  the  modern  press  alive. 
Even  the  fact  that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Arbroath  was  sum- 
marily deprived  of  his  living  and  informed  by  the  Bishop- 
in  the  usual  way,  that  his  services  would  no  longer  be 
required,  created  very  little  interest.  Some  months  later 
a  small  journalistic  flourish  was  heard  on  behalf  of  the 
discarded  gentleman,  upon  the  occasion  of  his  being  "  re- 

315 


316      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

ceived  "  into  the  Church  of  Rome,  with  all  his  sins  for- 
given,— but  so  far  as  Weircombe  was  concerned,  the  story 
of  himself  and  his  "  fav'rite  "  was  soon  forgotten,  and  his 
very  name  ceased  to  be  uttered.  The  little  community  re- 
sumed its  normal  habit  of  cheerful  attendance  at  Church 
every  Sunday,  satisfied  to  have  shown  to  the  ecclesiastical 
powers  that  be,  the  fact  that  "  'Igh  Jinks  "  in  religion  would 
never  be  tolerated  amongst  them ;  and  the  life  of  Weir- 
combe  went  on  in  the  usual  placid  way,  divided  between 
work  and  prayer,  and  governed  by  the  twin  forces  of  peace 
and  contentment. 

Meantime,  the  secret  spells  of  Mother  Nature  were  si- 
lently at  work  in  the  development  and  manifestation  of  the 
Spring.  The  advent  of  April  came  like  a  revelation  of 
divine  beauty  to  the  little  village  nestled  in  the  "  coombe," 
and  garlanded  it  from  summit  to  base  with  tangles  of  festal 
flowers.  The  little  cottage  gardens  and  higher  orchards 
were  smothered  in  the  snow  of  plum  and  cherry-blossom, — 
primroses  carpeted  the  woods  which  crowned  the  heights 
of  the  hills,  and  the  long  dark  spikes  of  bluebells,  ready  to 
bud  and  blossom,  thrust  themselves  through  the  masses  of 
last  year's  dead  leaves,  side  by  side  with  the  uncurling  fronds 
of  the  bracken  and  fern.  Thrushes  and  blackbirds  piped 
with  cheerful  persistence  among  the  greening  boughs  of 
the  old  chestnut  which  shaded  Mary  Deane's  cottage,  and 
children  roaming  over  the  grassy  downs  above  the  sea, 
brought  news  of  the  skylark's  song  and  the  cuckoo's  call. 
Many  a  time  in  these  lovely,  fresh  and  sunny  April  days 
Angus  Reay  would  persuade  Mary  away  from  her  lace- 
mending  to  take  long  walks  with  him  across  the  downs, 
or  through  the  woods — and  on  each  occasion  when  they 
started  on  these  rambles  together,  David  Helmsley  would 
sit  and  watch  for  their  return  in  a  curious  sort  of  timorous 
suspense — wondering,  hoping,  and  fearing, — eager  for  the 
moment  when  Angus  should  speak  his  mind  to  the  woman 
he  loved,  and  yet  always  afraid  lest  that  woman  should,  out 
of  some  super-sensitive  feeling,  put  aside  and  reject  that 
love,  even  though  she  might  long  to  accept  it.  However, 
day  after  day  passed  and  nothing  happened.  Either  Angus 
hesitated,  or  else  Mary  was  unapproachable — and  Helmsley 
worried  himself  in  vain.  They,  who  did  not  know  his 
secret,  could  not  of  course  imagine  the  strained  condition 
of  mind  in  which  their  undeclared  feelings  kept  him, — 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   317 

and  he  found  himself  more  perplexed  and  anxious  over 
their  apparent  uncertainty  than  he  had  ever  been  over  some 
of  his  greatest  financial  schemes.  Facts  and  figures  can 
to  a  certain  extent  be  relied  upon,  but  the  fluctuating  hu- 
mours and  vagaries  of  a  man  and  woman  in  love  with  each 
other  are  beyond  the  most  precise  calculations  of  the  skilled 
mathematician.  For  it  often  happens  that  when  they  seem 
to  be  coldest  they  are  warmest — and  cases  have  been  known 
where  they  have  taken  the  greatest  pains  to  avoid  each 
other  at  a  time  when  they  have  most  deeply  longed  to  be 
always  together.  It  was  during  this  uncomfortable  period 
of  uneasiness  and  hesitation  for  Helmsley,  that  Angus  and 
Mary  were  perhaps  most  supremely  happy.  Dimly,  sweetly 
conscious  that  the  gate  of  Heaven  was  open  for  them  and 
that  it  was  Love,  the  greatest  angel  of  all  God's  mighty 
host,  that  waited  for  them  there,  they  hovered  round  and 
round  upon  the  threshold  of  the  glory,  eager,  yet  afraid  to- 
enter.  Up  in  the  primrose-carpeted  woods  together  they 
talked,  like  good  friends,  of  a  thousand  things, — of  the 
weather,  of  the  promise  of  fruit  in  the  orchards,  of  the 
possibilities  of  a  good  fishing  year,  and  of  the  general 
beauty  of  the  scenery  around  Weircombe.  Then,  of  course, 
there  was  the  book  which  Angus  was  writing — a  book  now 
nearing  completion.  It  was  a  very  useful  book,  because 
it  gave  them  a  constant  and  safe  topic  of  conversation. 
Many  chapters  were  read  and  re-read — many  passages  writ- 
ten and  re-written  for  Mary's  hearing  and  criticism, — and  it 
may  at  once  be  said  that  what  had  at  first  been  merely 
clever,  brilliant,  and  intellectual  writing,  was  now  becom- 
ing not  so  much  a  book  as  an  artistic  creation,  through 
which  the  blood  and  colour  of  human  life  pulsed  and  flowed, 
giving  it  force  and  vitality.  Sometimes  they  persuaded 
Helmsley  to  accompany  them  on  some  of  their  shorter  ram- 
bles,— but  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  walk  far,  and  he 
often  left  them  half-way  up  the  "  coombe,"  returning  to 
the  cottage  alone.  Mary  had  frequently  expressed  a  great 
wish  to  take  him  to  a  favourite  haunt  of  hers,  which  she 
called  the  "  Giant's  Castle  " — but  he  was  unable  to  make 
the  steep  ascent — so  on  one  fine  afternoon  she  took  Angus 
there  instead.  "  The  Giant's  Castle "  had  no  recognised 
name  among  the  Weircombe  villagers  save  this  one  which 
Mary  had  bestowed  upon  it,  and  which  the  children  repeated 
after  her  so  often  that  it  seemed  highly  probable  that 


.318      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

the  title  would  stick  to  it  for  ever.  "  Up  Giant's  Castle 
way  "  was  quite  a  familiar  direction  to  any  one  ascending 
the  "  coombe,"  or  following  the  precipitous  and  narrow  path 
which  wound  along  the  edge  of  the  cliffs  to  certain  pastures 
where  shepherds  as  well  as  sheep  were  in  daily  danger  of 
landslips,  and  which  to  the  ordinary  pedestrian  were  sig- 
nalled by  a  warning  board  as  "  Dangerous."  But  "  Giant's 
Castle "  itself  was  merely  the  larger  and  loftier  of  the 
two  towering  rocks  which  guarded  the  sea-front  of  Weir- 
combe  village.  A  tortuous  grassy  path  led  up  to  its  very 
pinnacle,  and  from  here,  there  was  an  unbroken  descent  as 
.straight  and  smooth  as  a  well-built  wall,  of  several  hundred 
feet  sheer  down  into  the  sea,  which  at  this  point  swirled 
round  the  rocky  base  in  dark,  deep,  blackish-green  eddies, 
sprinkled  with  trailing  sprays  of  brown  and  crimson  weed. 
It  was  a  wonderful  sight  to  look  down  upon  this  heaving 
mass  of  water,  if  it  could  be  done  without  the  head  swim- 
ming and  the  eyes  growing  blind  with  the  light  of  the  sky 
striking  sharp  against  the  restless  heaving  of  the  waves, 
and  Mary  was  one  of  the  few  who  could  stand  fearlessly 
on  almost  the  very  brink  of  the  parapet  of  the  "  Giant's 
Castle,"  and  watch  the  sweep  of  the  gulls  as  they  flew  under 
and  above  her,  uttering  their  brief  plaintive  cries  of  glad- 
ness or  anger  as  the  wild  wind  bore  them  to  and  fro.  When 
Reay  first  saw  her  run  eagerly  to  the  very  edge,  and  stand 
there,  a  light,  bold,  beautiful  figure,  with  the  wind  flut- 
tering her  garments  and  blowing  loose  a  long  rippling  tress 
of  her  amber-brown  hair,  he  could  not  refrain  from  an 
involuntary  cry  of  terror,  and  an  equally  involuntary  rush 
to  her  side  with  his  arms  out-stretched.  But  as  she  turned 
her  sweet  face  and  grave  blue  eyes  upon  him  there  was 
something  in  the  gentle  dignity  and  purity  of  her  look 
that  held  him  back,  abashed,  and  curiously  afraid.  She 
made  him  feel  the  power  of  her  sex, — a  power  invincible 
when  strengthened  by  modesty  and  reserve, — and  the  easy 
licence  which  modern  women,  particularly  those  of  a  de- 
graded aristocracy,  permit  to  men  in  both  conversation  and 
behaviour  nowadays,  would  have  found  no  opportunity 
of  being  exercised  in  her  presence.  So,  though  his  impulse 
moved  him  to  catch  her  round  the  waist  and  draw  her  with 
forcible  tenderness  away  from  the  dizzy  eminence  on  which 
she  stood,  he  dared  not  presume  so  far,  and  merely  con- 
tented himself  with  a  bounding  stride  which  brought  him 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN  819 

to  the  same  point  of  danger  as  herself,  and  the  breathless 
exclamation — 

"  Miss  Mary !    Take  care !  " 

She  smiled. 

"  Oh,  there  is  nothing  to  be  frightened  of ! "  she  said. 
"  Often  and  often  I  have  come  here  quite  alone  and  looked 
down  upon  the  sea  in  all  weathers.  Just  after  my  father's 
death,  this  used  to  be  the  place  I  loved  best,  where  I  could 
feel  that  I  was  all  by  myself  with  God,  who  alone  under- 
stood my  sadness.  At  night,  when  the  moon  is  at  the  full, 
it  is  very  beautiful  here.  One  looks  down  into  the  water 
and  sees  a  world  of  waving  light,  and  then,  looking  up  to 
the  sky,  there  is  a  heaven  of  stars ! — and  all  the  weary  ways 
of  life  are  forgotten !  The  angels  seem  so  near !  " 

A  silent  agreement  with  this  latter  statement  shone  in 
Reay's  eyes  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  It's  good  sometimes  to  find  a  woman  who  still  believes 
in  angels,"  he  said. 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  them  ?  " 

"  Implicitly, — with  all  my  heart  and  soul !  "  And  again 
his  eyes  were  eloquent. 

A  wave  of  rosy  colour  flitted  over  her  face,  and  shading 
her  eyes  from  the  strong  glare  of  the  sun,  she  gazed  across 
the  sea. 

"  I  wish  dear  old  David  could  see  this  glorious  sight !  " 
she  said.  "  But  he's  not  strong — and  I'm  afraid — I  hardly 
like  to  think  it — that  he's  weaker  than  he  knows." 

"  Poor  old  chap !  "  said  Angus,  gently.  "  Any  way,  you've 
done  all  you  can  for  him,  and  he's  very  grateful.  I  hope 
he'll  last  a  few  years  longer." 

"  I  hope  so  too,"  she  answered  quickly.  "  For  I  should 
miss  him  very  much.  I've  grown  quite  to  love  him." 

"  I  think  he  feels  that,"  and  Angus  seated  himself  on  a 
jutting  crag  of  the  "  Giant's  Castle  "  and  prepared  for  the 
utterance  of  something  desperate.  "  Any  one  would,  you 
know !  " 

She  made  no  reply.  Her  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  furthest 
silver  gleaming  line  of  the  ocean  horizon. 

"  Any  one  would  be  bound  to  feel  it,  if  you  loved — if 
you  were  fond  of  him,"  he  went  on  in  rather  a  rambling 
way.  "  It  would  make  all  the  difference  in  the  world ' 

She  turned  towards  him  quickly  with  a  smile.  Her 
breathing  was  a  little  hurried. 


S20      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Shall  we  go  back  now  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Certainly ! — if — if  you  wish — but  isn't  it  rather  nice 
up  here?"  he  pleaded. 

"  We'll  come  another  day,"  and  she  ran  lightly  down  the 
first  half  of  the  grassy  path  which  had  led  them  to  the 
summit.  "  But  I  mustn't  waste  any  more  time  this  after- 
noon." 

"  Why  ?  Any  pressing  demands  for  mended  lace  ?  "  asked 
Angus,  as  he  followed  her. 

"  Oh  no !  Not  particularly  so.  Only  when  the  firm  that 
employs  me,  sends  any  very  specially  valuable  stuff  worth 
five  or  six  hundred  pounds  or  so,  I  never  like  to  keep  it 
longer  that  I  can  help.  And  the  piece  I'm  at  work  on  is 
valued  at  a  thousand  guineas." 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  wear  it  yourself  ?  "  he  asked  sud- 
denly, with  a  laugh. 

"  I  ?  I  wouldn't  wear  it  for  the  world !  Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Reay,  that  I  almost  hate  beautiful  lace!  I  admire 
the  work  and  design,  of  course — no  one  could  help  that — 
but  every  little  flower  and  leaf  in  the  fabric  speaks  to  me 
of  so  many  tired  eyes  growing  blind  over  the  intricate 
stitches — so  many  weary  fingers,  and  so  many  aching  hearts 
— all  toiling  for  the  merest  pittance!  For  it  is  not  the 
real  makers  of  the  lace  who  get  good  profit  by  their  work, 
it  is  the  merchants  who  sell  it  that  have  all  the  advantage. 
If  I  were  a  great  lady  and  a  rich  one,  I  would  refuse  to 
buy  any  lace  from  the  middleman, — I  would  seek  out  the 
actual  poor  workers,  and  give  them  my  orders,  and  see 
that  they  were  comfortably  fed  and  housed  as  long  as  they 
worked  for  me." 

"  And  it's  just  ten  chances  to  one  whether  they  would 

be  grateful  to  you "  Angus  began.  She  silenced  him 

by  a  slight  gesture. 

"  But  I  shouldn't  care  whether  they  were  grateful  or 
not,"  she  said.  "  I  should  be  content  to  know  that  I  had 
done  what  was  right  and  just  to  my  fellow-creatures." 

They  had  no  more  talk  that  day,  and  Helmsley,  eagerly 
expectant,  and  watching  them  perhaps  more  intently  than 
a  criminal  watches  the  face  of  a  judge,  was  as  usual  dis- 
appointed. His  inward  excitement,  always  suppressed,  made 
him  somewhat  feverish  and  irritable,  and  Mary,  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  cause,  stayed  in  to  "  take  care  of  him  "  as  she 
said,  and  gave  up  her  afternoon  walks  with  Angus  for  a 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   321 

time  altogether,  which  made  the  situation  still  more  per- 
plexing, and  to  Helmsley  almost  unbearable.  Yet  there 
was  nothing  to  be  done.  He  felt  it  would  be  unwise  to 
speak  of  the  matter  in  any  way  to  her — she  was  a  woman 
who  would  certainly  find  it  difficult  to  believe  that  she  had 
won,  or  could  possibly  win  the  love  of  a  lover  at  her  age; 
— she  might  even  resent  it, — no  one  could  tell.  And  so  the 
days  of  April  paced  softly  on,  in  bloom  and  sunlight,  till 
May  came  in  with  a  blaze  of  colour  and  radiance,  and  the 
last  whiff  of  cold  wind  blew  itself  away  across  the  sea. 
The  "  biting  nor'easter,"  concerning  which  the  comic  press 
gives  itself  up  to  senseless  parrot-talk  with  each  recurrence 
of  the  May  month,  no  matter  how  warm  and  beautiful  that 
month  may  be,  was  a  "  thing  foregone  and  clean  forgotten," 
— and  under  the  mild  and  beneficial  influences  of  the  mingled 
sea  and  moorland  air,  Helmsley  gained  a  temporary  rush 
of  strength,  and  felt  so  much  better,  that  he  was  able  to 
walk  down  to  the  shore  and  back  again  once  or  twice  a 
a  day,  without  any  assistance,  scarcely  needing  even  the  aid 
of  his  stick  to  lean  upon.  The  shore  remained  his  favourite 
haunt ;  he  was  never  tired  of  watching  the  long  waves  roll 
in,  edged  with  gleaming  ribbons  of  foam,  and  roll  out  again, 
with  the  musical  clatter  of  drawn  pebbles  and  shells  follow- 
ing the  wake  of  the  backward  sweeping  ripple, — and  he 
made  friends  with  many  of  the  Weircombe  fisherfolk,  who 
were  always  ready  to  chat  with  him  concerning  themselves 
and  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  their  trade.  The  chil- 
dren, too,  were  all  eager  to  run  after  "  old  David,"  as  they 
called  him, — and  many  an  afternoon  he  would  sit  in  the  sun, 
with  a  group  of  these  hardy  little  creatures  gathered  about 
him,  listening  entranced,  while  he  told  them  strange  stories 
of  foreign  lands  and  far  travels, — travels  which  men  took 
"  in  search  of  gold  " — as  he  would  say,  with  a  sad  little 
smile — "  gold,  which  is  not  nearly  so  much  use  as  it  seems 
to  be." 

"But  can't  us  buy  everything  with  plenty  of  money?" 
asked  a  seven-year-old  urchin,  on  one  of  these  occasions, 
looking  solemnly  up  into  his  face  with  a  pair  of  very  round, 
big  brown  eyes. 

"  Not  everything,  my  little  man,"  he  answered,  smooth- 
ing the  rough  locks  of  the  small  inquirer  with  a  very  tender 
hand.  "  I  could  not  buy  you,  for  instance !  Your  mother 
wouldn't  sell  you  1  " 


322      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

The  child  laughed. 

"  Oh,  no !    But  I  didn't  mean  me !  " 

"  I  know  you  didn't  mean  me !  "  and  Helmsley  smiled. 
"  But  suppose  some  one  put  a  thousand  golden  sovereigns 
in  a  bag  on  one  side,  and  you  in  your  rough  little  torn 
clothes  on  the  other,  and  asked  your  mother  which  she 
would  like  best  to  have — what  do  you  think  she  would 
say?" 

"  She'd  'ave  me ! "  and  a  smile  of  confident  satisfaction 
beamed  on  the  grinning  little  face  like  a  ray  of  sunshine. 

"  Of  course  she  would !  The  bag  of  sovereigns  would 
be  no  use  at  all  compared  to  you.  So  you  see  we  cannot 
buy  everything  with  money." 

"  But — most  things  ?  "  queried  the  boy — "  Eh  ?  " 

"  Most  things — perhaps,"  Helmsley  answered,  with  a 
slight  sigh.  "  But  those  '  most  things '  are  not  things  of 
much  value  even  when  you  get  them.  You  can  never  buy 
love, — and  that  is  the  only  real  treasure, — the  treasure  of 
Heaven !  " 

The  child  looked, at  him,  vaguely  impressed  by  his  sudden 
earnestness,  but  scarcely  understanding  his  words. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  a  little  money  ?  "  And  the  inquisitive 
young  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  his  face  with  an  expression 
of  tenderest  pity.  "  You'se  a  very  poor  old  man !  " 

Helmsley  laughed,  and  again  patted  the  little  curly  head. 

"  Yes — yes — a  very  poor  old  man !  "  he  repeated.  "  But 
I  don't  want  any  more  than  I've  got ! " 

One  afternoon  towards  mid-May,  a  strong  yet  soft  sou'- 
wester gale  blew  across  Weircombe,  bringing  with  it  light 
showers  of  rain,  which,  as  they  fell  upon  the  flowering 
plants  and  trees,  brought  out  all  the  perfume  of  the  spring 
in  such  rich  waves  of  sweetness,  that,  though  as  yet  there 
were  no  roses,  and  the  lilac  was  only  just  budding  out, 
the  whole  countryside  seemed  full  of  the  promised  fra- 
grance of  the  blossoms  that  were  yet  to  be.  The  wind 
made  scenery  in  the  sky,  heaping  up  snowy  masses  of  cloud 
against  the  blue  in  picturesque  groups  resembling  Alpine 
heights,  and  fantastic  palaces  of  fairyland,  and  when, — 
after  a  glorious  day  of  fresh  and  invigorating  air  which 
swept  both  sea  and  hillside,  a  sudden  calm  came  with  the 
approach  of  sunset,  the  lovely  colours  of  earth  and  heaven, 
melting  into  one  another,  where  so  pure  and  brilliant,  that 
Mary,  always  a  lover  of  Nature,  could  not  resist  Angus 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   323 

Reay's  earnest  entreaty  that  she  would  accompany  him  to 
see  the  splendid  departure  of  the  orb  of  day,  in  all  its 
imperial  panoply  of  royal  gold  and  purple. 

"  It  will  be  a  beautiful  sunset,"  he  said — "  And  from  the 
'  Giant's  Castle '  rock,  a  sight  worth  seeing." 

Helmsley  looked  at  him  as  he  spoke,  and  looking,  smiled. 

"  Do  go,  my  dear,"  he  urged — "  And  come  back  and  tell 
me  all  about  it." 

"  I  really  think  you  want  me  out  of  your  way,  David !  " 
she  said  laughingly.  "  You  seem  quite  happy  when  I  leave 


you 


"  You  don't  get  enough  fresh  air,"  he  answered  evasively. 
"  And  this  is  just  the  season  of  the  year  when  you  most 
need  it." 

She  made  no  more  demur,  and  putting  on  the  simple 
straw  hat,  which,  plainly  trimmed  with  a  soft  knot  of 
navy-blue  ribbon,  was  all  her  summer  head-gear,  she  left 
the  house  with  Reay.  After  a  while,  Helmsley  also  went 
out  for  his  usual  lonely  ramble  on  the  shore,  from  whence 
he  could  see  the  frowning  rampart  of  the  "  Giant's  Castle  " 
above  him,  though  it  was  impossible  to  discern  any  person 
who  might  be  standing  at  its  summit,  on  account  of  the 
perpendicular  crags  that  intervened.  From  both  shore  and 
rocky  height  the  scene  was  magnificent.  The  sun,  dipping 
slowly  down  towards  the  sea,  shot  rays  of  glory  around 
itself  in  an  aureole  of  gold,  which,  darting  far  upwards,  and 
spreading  from  north  to  south,  pierced  the  drifting  masses 
of  floating  fleecy  cloud  like  arrows,  and  transfigured  their 
whiteness  to  splendid  hues  of  fiery  rose  and  glowing  ame- 
thyst, while  just  between  the  falling  Star  of  Day  and  the 
ocean,  a  rift  appeared  of  smooth  and  delicate  watery  green, 
touched  here  and  there  with  flecks  of  palest  pink  and  ardent 
violet.  Up  on  the  parapet  of  the  "  Giant's  Castle,"  all  this 
loyal  panoply  of  festal  colour  was  seen  at  its  best,  sweeping 
in  widening  waves  across  the  whole  surface  of  the  Heavens ; 
and  there  was  a  curious  stillness  everywhere,  as  though 
earth  itself  were  conscious  of  a  sudden  and  intense  awe. 
Standing  on  the  dizzy  edge  of  her  favourite  point  of  vantage, 
Mary  Deane  gazed  upon  the  sublime  spectacle  with  eyes 
so  passionately  tender  in  their  far-away  expression,  that, 
to  Angus  Reay,  who  watched  those  eyes  with  much  more 
rapt  admiration  than  he  bestowed  upon  the  spendour  of  the 
sunset,  they  looked  like  the  eyes  of  some  angel,  who,  seeing 


824      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

heaven  all  at  once  revealed,  recognised  her  native  home,  and 
with  the  recognition,  was  prepared  for  immediate  flight. 
And  on  the  impulse  which  gave  him  this  fantastic  thought, 
he  said  softly — 

"  Don't  go  away,  Miss  Mary !  Stay  with  us — with  me 
— as  long  as  you  can !  " 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him,  smiling. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  I'm  not  going  away  any- 
where— who  told  you  that  I  was  ?  " 

"  No  one," — and  Angus  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her — 
"  But  just  now  you  seemed  so  much  a  part  of  the  sea  and 
the  sky,  leaning  forward  and  giving  yourself  entirely  over 
to  the  glory  of  the  moment,  that  I  felt  as  if  you  might  float 
away  from  me  altogether."  Here  he  paused — then  added 
in  a  lower  tone — "  And  I  could  not  bear  to  lose  you !  " 

She  was  silent.  But  her  face  grew  pale,  and  her  lips 
quivered.  He  saw  the  tremor  pass  over  her,  and  inwardly 
rejoiced, — his  own  nerves  thrilling  as  he  realised  that, 
after  all,  if — if  she  loved  him,  he  was  the  master  of  her 
fate. 

"  We've  been  such  good  friends,"  he  went  on,  dallying  with 
his  own  desire  to  know  the  best  or  worst — "  Haven't  we  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  yes !  "  she  answered,  somewhat  faintly.  "  And 
I  hope  we  always  will  be." 

"  I  hope  so,  too !  "  he  answered  in  quite  a  matter-of-fact 
way.  "  You  see  I'm  rather  a  clumsy  chap  with  women " 

She  smiled  a  little. 

"Are  you?" 

"  Yes, — I  mean  I  never  get  on  with  them  quite  as  well 
as  other  fellows  do  somehow — and — er — and — what  I  want 
to  say,  Miss  Mary,  is  that  I've  never  got  on  with  any  woman 
so  well  as  I  have  with  you — and " 

He  paused.  At  no  time  in  his  life  had  he  been  at  such 
a  loss  for  language.  His  heart  was  thumping  in  the  most 
extraordinary  fashion,  and  he  prodded  the  end  of  his  walk- 
ing-stick into  the  ground  with  quite  a  ferocious  earnestness. 
She  was  still  looking  at  him  and  still  smiling. 

"  And,"  he  went  on  ramblingly,  "  that's  why  I  hope  we 
shall  always  be  good  friends." 

As  he  uttered  this  perfectly  commonplace  remark,  he 
cursed  himself  for  a  fool.  "  What's  the  matter  with  me  ?  " 
he  inwardly  demanded.  "  My  tongue  seems  to  be  tied  up ! 
I'm  going  to  have  lockjaw !  It's  awful !  Something 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   325 

better  than  this  has  got  to  come  out  of  me  somehow !  "  And 
acting  on  a  brilliant  flash  of  inspiration  which  suddenly 
seemed  to  have  illumined  his  brain,  he  said — 

"  The  fact  is,  I  want  to  get  married.  I'm  thinking 
about  it." 

How  quiet  she  was!     She  seemed  scarcely  to  breathe. 

"  Yes  ?  "  and  the  word,  accentuated  without  surprise  and 
merely  as  a  question,  was  spoken  very  gently.  "  I  do  hope 
you  have  found  some  one  who  loves  you  with  all  her  heart !  " 

She  turned  her  head  away,  and  Angus  saw,  or  thought 
he  saw,  the  bright  tears  brim  up  from  under  her  lashes  and 
slowly  fall.  Without  another  instant's  pause  he  rushed 
upon  his  destiny,  and  in  that  rush  grew  strong. 

"  Yes,  Mary !  "  he  said,  and  moving  to  her  side  he  caught 
her  hand  in  his  own — "  I  dare  to  think  I  have  found  that 
some  one !  I  believe  I  have !  I  believe  that  a  woman  whom 
I  love  with  all  my  heart,  loves  me  in  return !  If  I  am  mis- 
taken, then  I've  lost  the  whole  world!  Tell  me,  Mary! 
Am  I  wrong?  " 

She  could  not  speak, — the  tears  were  thick  in  her  eyes. 

"  Mary — dear,  dearest  Mary !  "  and  he  pressed  the  hand 
he  held — "  You  know  I  love  you ! — you  know " 

She  turned  her  face  towards  him — a  pale,  wondering 
face, — and  tried  to  smile. 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  "  she  murmured  tremulously — "  How 
can  I  believe?  I'm  past  the  time  for  love!  " 

For  all  answer  he  drew  her  into  his  arms. 

"Ask  Love  itself  about  that,  Mary!"  he  said.  "Ask 
my  heart,  which  beats  for  you, — ask  my  soul,  which  longs 
for  you ! — ask  me,  who  worship  you,  you,  best  and  dearest 
of  women,  about  the  time  for  love!  That  time  for  us  is 
now,  Mary ! — now  and  always !  " 

Then  came  a  silence — that  eloquent  silence  which  sur- 
passes all  speech.  Love  has  no  written  or  spoken  language 
—it  is  incommunicable  as  God.  And  Mary,  whose  nature 
was  open  and  pure  as  the  daylight,  would  not  have  been 
the  woman  she  was  if  she  could  have  expressed  in  words 
the  deep  tenderness  and  passion  which  at  that  supreme  mo- 
ment silently  responded  to  her  lover's  touch,  her  lover's 
embrace.  And  when, — lifting  her  face  between  his  two 
hands,  he  gazed  at  it  long  and  earnestly,  a  smile,  shining 
between  tears,  brightened  her  sweet  eyes. 

"  You  are  looking  at  me  as  if  you  never  saw  me  before, 


326      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Angus !  "  she  said,  her  voice  sinking  softly,  as  she  pro- 
nounced his  name. 

"  Positively,  I  don't  think  I  ever  have !  "  he  answered. 
"  Not  as  you  are  now,  Mary !  I  have  never  seen  you  look 
so  beautiful!  I  have  never  seen  you  before  as  my  love! 
my  wife !  " 

She  drew  herself  a  little  away  from  him. 

"But,  are  you  sure  you  are  doing  right  for  yourself?" 
she  asked — "  You  know  you  could  marry  anybody " 

He  laughed,  and  threw  one  arm  round  her  waist. 

"  Thanks  ! — I  don't  want  to  marry  '  anybody  ' — I  want 
to  marry  you !  The  question  is,  will  you  have  me  ?  " 

She  smiled. 

"  If  I  thought  it  would  be  for  your  good " 

Stooping  quickly  he  kissed  her. 

"  That's  very  much  for  my  good !  "  he  declared.  "  And 
now  that  I've  told  you  my  mind,  you  must  tell  me  yours. 
Do  you  love  me,  Mary  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  you  know  that  already  too  well !  "  she  said, 
with  a  wistful  radiance  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  don't !  "  he  declared — "  I'm  not  at  all  sure  of  you " 

She  interrupted  him. 

"Are  you  sure  of  yourself?" 

"Mary!" 

"  Ah,  don't  look  so  reproachful !  It's  only  for  you  I'm 
thinking !  You  see  I'm  nothing  but  a  poor  working  woman 
of  what  is  called  the  lower  classes — I'm  not  young,  and 
I'm  not  clever.  Now  you've  got  genius ;  you'll  be  a  great 
man  some  day,  quite  soon  perhaps — you  may  even  become 
rich  as  well  as  famous,  and  then  perhaps  you'll  be  sorry  you 
ever  met  me " 

"  In  that  case  I'll  call  upon  the  public  hangman  and  ask 
him  to  give  me  a  quick  despatch,"  he  said  promptly; 
"  Though  I  shouldn't  be  worth  the  expense  of  a  rope !  " 

"  Angus,  you  won't  be  serious  !  " 

"  Serious  ?  I  never  was  more  serious  in  my  life !  And 
I  want  my  question  answered." 

"What  question?" 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?    Yes  or  no !  " 

He  held  her  close  and  looked  her  full  in  the  face  as  he 
made  this  peremptory  demand.  Her  cheeks  grew  crimson, 
but  she  met  his  searching  gaze  frankly. 

"  Ah,  though  you  are  a  man,  you  are  a  spoilt  child !  " 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   327 

she  said.  "  You  know  I  love  you  more  than  I  can  say ! 
— and  yet  you  want  me  to  tell  you  what  can  never  be 
told!" 

He  caught  her  to  his  heart,  and  kissed  her  passionately. 

"  That's  enough !  "  he  said — "  For  if  you  love  me,  Mary, 
your  love  is  love  indeed! — it's  no  sham;  and  like  all  true 
and  heavenly  things,  it  will  never  change.  I  believe,  if  I 
turned  out  to  be  an  utter  wastrel,  you'd  love  me  still !  " 

"  Of  course  I  should !  "  she  answered. 

"  Of  course  you  would ! "  and  he  kissed  her  again. 
"  Mary,  my  Mary,  if  there  were  more  women  like  you, 
there  would  be  more  men! — men  in  the  real  sense  of  the 
word — manly  men,  whose  love  and  reverence  for  women 
would  make  them  better  and  braver  in  the  battle  of  life. 
Do  you  know,  I  can  do  anything  now,  with  you  to  love  me ! 
I  don't  suppose," — and  here  he  unconsciously  squared  his 
shoulders — "  I  really  don't  suppose  there  is  a  single  diffi- 
culty in  my  way  that  I  won't  conquer !  " 

She  smiled,  leaning  against  him. 

"  If^you  feel  like  that,  I  am  very  happy!  "  she  said. 

As  she  spoke,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  sky,  and  uttered 
an  involuntary  exclamation. 

"  Look,  look !  "  she  cried — "  How  glorious !  " 

The  heavens  above  them  were  glowing  red, — forming  a 
dome  of  burning  rose,  deepening  in  hue  towards  the  sea, 
where  the  outer  rim  of  the  nearly  vanished  sun  was  slowly 
disappearing  below  the  horizon — and  in  the  centre  of  this 
ardent  glory,  a  white  cloud,  shaped  like  a  dove  with  out- 
spread wings,  hung  almost  motionless.  The  effect  was  mar- 
vellously beautiful,  and  Angus,  full  of  his  own  joy,  was 
more  than  ever  conscious  of  the  deep  content  of  a  spirit 
attuned  to  the  infinite  joy  of  nature. 

"  It  is  like  the  Holy  Grail,"  he  said,  and,  with  one  arm 
round  the  woman  he  loved,  he  softly  quoted  the  lines : — 

"  And  down  the  long  beam  stole  the  Holy  Grail, 
Rose-red,  with  beatings  in  it  as  if  alive  1 " 

"  That  is  Tennyson,"  she  said. 

"  Yes — that  is  Tennyson — the  last  great  poet  England 
can  boast,"  he  answered.  "  The  poet  who  hated  hate  and 
loved  love." 

"  All  poets  are  like  that,"  she  murmured. 


328      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Not  all,  Mary !  Some  of  the  modern  ones  hate  love  and 
love  hate !  " 

"  Then  they  are  not  poets,"  she  said.  "  They  would  not 
see  any  beauty  in  that  lovely  sky — and  they  would  not 
understand " 

"  Us !  "  finished  Angus.  "  And  I  assure  you,  Mary  at  the 
present  moment,  we  are  worth  understanding !  " 

She  laughed  softly. 

"  Do  we  understand  ourselves  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Of  course  we  don't !  If  we  did,  we  should  probably  be 
miserable.  It's  just  because  we  are  mysterious  one  to 
another,  that  we  are  so  happy.  No  human  being  should 
ever  try  to  analyse  the  fact  of  existence.  It's  enough  that 
we  exist — and  that  we  love  each  other.  Isn't  it,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Enough  ?  It  is  too  much, — too  much  happiness  alto- 
gether for  me,  at  any  rate,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  believe  in 
it  yet!  I  can't  really,  Angus!  Why  should  you  love 
me?" 

"  Why,  indeed ! "  And  his  eyes  grew  dark  and  warm 
with  tenderness — "  Why  should  you  love  me?  " 

"  Ah,  there's  so  much  to  love  in  you !  "  and  she  made 
her  heart's  confession  with  a  perfectly  naive  candour.  "  I 
daresay  you  don't  see  it  yourself,  but  I  do ! " 

"  And  I  assure  you,  Mary,"  he  declared,  with  a  whim- 
sical solemnity,  "  that  there's  ever  so  much  more  to  love 
in  you !  I  know  you  don't  see  it  for  yourself,  but  I  do !  " 

Then  they  laughed  together  like  two  children,  and  all 
constraint  was  at  an  end  between  them.  Hand  in  hand  they 
descended  the  grassy  steep  of  the  "  Giant's  Castle " — 
charmed  with  one  another,  and  at  every  step  of  the  way 
seeing  some  new  delight  which  they  seemed  to  have  missed 
before.  The  crimson  sunset  burned  about  them  like  the 
widening  petals  of  a  rose  in  fullest  bloom, — earth  caught 
the  fervent  glory  and  reflected  it  back  again  in  many  vary- 
ing tints  of  brilliant  colour,  shading  from  green  to  gold, 
from  pink  to  amethyst — and  as  they  walked  through  the 
splendid  vaporous  light,  it  was  as  though  they  were  a  living 
part  of  the  glory  of  the  hour. 

"  We  must  tell  David,"  said  Mary,  as  they  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  hill.  "  Poor  old  dear !  I  think  he  will  be 
glad." 

"  I  know  he  will !  "  and  Angus  smiled  confidently.  "  He's 
been  waiting  for  this  ever  since  Christmas  Day ! " 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   $29 

Mary's  eyes  opened  in  wonderment. 

"  Ever  since  Christmas  Day  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  told  him  then  that  I  loved  you,  Mary, — that  I 
wanted  to  ask  you  to  marry  me, — but  that  I  felt  I  was  too 
poor " 

Her  hand  stole  through  his  arm. 

"  Too  poor,  Angus !    Am  I  not  poor  also  ?  " 

"  Not  as  poor  as  I  am,"  he  answered,  promptly  possess- 
ing himself  of  the  caressing  hand.  "  In  fact,  you're  quite 
rich  compared  to  me.  You've  got  a  house,  and  you've  got 
work,  which  brings  you  in  enough  to  live  upon, — now  I 
haven't  a  roof  to  call  my  own,  and  my  stock  of  money  is 
rapidly  coming  to  an  end.  I've  nothing  to  depend  upon  but 
my  book, — and  if  I  can't  sell  that  when  it's  finished,  where 
am  I?  I'm  nothing  but  a  beggar — less  well  off  than  I  was 
as  a  wee  boy  when  I  herded  cattle.  And  I'm  not  going 
to  marry  you " 

She  stopped  in  her  walk  and  looked  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh  Angus !    I  thought  you  were !  " 

He  kissed  the  hand  he  held. 

"  Don't  make  fun  of  me,  Mary!  I  won't  allow  it!  I  am 
going  to  marry  you! — but  I'm  not  going  to  marry  you  till 
I've  sold  my  book.  I  don't  suppose  I'll  get  more  than 
a  hundred  pounds  for  it,  but  that  will  do  to  start  housekeep- 
ing together  on.  Won't  it  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  it  would  indeed ! "  and  she  lifted  her 
head  with  quite  a  proud  gesture — "  It  will  be  a  fortune !  " 

"  Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "  the  cottage  is  yours,  and  all 
that  is  in  it.  I  can't  add  much  to  that,  because  to  my 
mind,  it's  just  perfect.  I  never  want  any  sweeter,  prettier 
little  home.  But  I  want  to  work  for  you,  Mary,  so  that 
you'll  not  have  to  work  for  yourself,  you  understand  ?  " 

She  nodded  her  head  gravely. 

"  I  understand !  You  want  me  to  sit  with  my  hands 
folded  in  my  lap,  doing  nothing  at  all,  and  getting  lazy 
and  bad-tempered." 

"  Now  you  know  I  don't !  "  he  expostulated. 

"  Yes,  you  do,  Angus !  If  you  don't  want  me  to  work, 
you  want  me  to  be  a  perfectly  useless  and  tiresome  woman ! 
Why,  my  dearest,  now  that  you  love  me,  I  should  like 
to  work  all  the  harder!  If  you  think  the  cottage  pretty,  I 
shall  try  to  make  it  even  prettier.  And  I  don't  want  to 
give  up  all  my  lace-mending.  It's  just  as  pleasant  and  in- 


330      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

teresting  as  the  fancy-work  which  the  rich  ladies  play  with. 
You  must  really  let  me  go  on  working,  Angus!  I  shall 
be  a  perfectly  unbearable  person  if  you  don't !  " 

She  looked  so  sweetly  at  him,  that  as  they  were  at  the 
moment  passing  under  the  convenient  shadow  of  a  tree, 
he  took  her  in  his  artns  and  kissed  her. 

"  When  you  become  a  perfectly  unbearable  person,"  he 
said,  "  then  it  will  be  time  for  another  deluge,  and  a  general 
renovation  of  human  kind.  You  shall  work  if  you  like,  my 
Mary,  but  you  shall  not  work  for  me.  See  ?  " 

A  tender  smile  lingered  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  see !  "  and  linking  her  arm  through  his  again,  she 
moved  on  with  him  over  the  thyme-scented  grass,  her  dress 
gently  sweeping  across  the  stray  clusters  of  golden  cow- 
slips that  nodded  here  and  there.  "  /  will  work  for  myself, 
you  will  work  for  me,  and  old  David  will  work  for  both 
of  us!" 

They  laughed  joyously. 

"  Poor  old  David !  "  said  Angus.  "  He's  been  wondering 
why  I  have  not  spoken  to  you  before, — he  declared  he 
couldn't  understand  it.  But  then  I  wasn't  quite  sure  whether 
you  liked  me  at  all " 

"  Weren't  you  ?  "  and  her  glance  was  eloquent. 

"  No — and  I  asked  him  to  find  out !  " 

She  looked  at  him  in  a  whimsical  wonderment. 

"  You  asked  him  to  find  out  ?    And  did  he  ?  " 

"  He  seems  to  think  so.  At  any  rate,  he  gave  me  courage 
to  speak." 

Mary  grew  suddenly  meditative. 

"  Do  you  know,  Angus,"  she  said,  "  I  think  old  David 
was  sent  to  me  for  a  special  purpose.  Some  great  and 
good  influence  guided  him  to  me — I  am  sure  of  it.  You  don't 
know  all  his  history.  Shall  I  tell  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes — do  tell  me — but  I  think  I  know  it.  Was  he  not  a 
former  old  friend  of  your  father's  ?  " 

"  No — that's  a  story  I  had  to  invent  to  satisfy  the  curi- 
osity of  the  villagers.  It  would  never  have  done  to  let 
them  know  that  he  was  only  an  old  tramp  whom  I  found 
ill  and  nearly  dying  out  on  the  hills  during  a  great  storm 
we  had  last  summer.  There  had  been  heavy  thunder  and 
lightning  all  the  afternoon,  and  when  the  storm  ceased  I 
went  to  my  door  to  watch  the  clearing  off  of  the  clouds, 
and  I  heard  a  dog  yelping  pitifully  on  the  hill  just  above 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   SSI 

the  'coombe.  I  went  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and 
there  I  found  an  old  man  lying  quite  unconscious  on  the 
wet  grass,  looking  as  if  he  were  dead,  and  a  little  dog — you 
know  Charlie? — guarding  him  and  barking  as  loudly  as  it 
could.  Well,  I  brought  him  back  to  life,  and  took  him 
home  and  nursed  him — and — that's  all.  He  told  me  his 
name  was  David — and  that  he  had  been  '  on  the  tramp '  to 
Cornwall  to  find  a  friend.  You  know  the  rest." 

"  Then  he  is  really  quite  a  stranger  to  you,  Mary  ?  "  said 
Angus  wonderingly. 

"  Quite.  He  never  knew  my  father.  But  I  am  sure 
if  Dad  had  been  alive,  he  would  have  rescued  him  just  as 
I  did,  and  then  he  would  have  been  his  '  friend,' — he  could 
not  have  helped  himself.  That's  the  way  J  argued  it  out  to 
my  own  heart  and  conscience." 

Angus  looked  at  her. 

"  You   darling !  "  he  said  suddenly. 

She  laughed. 

"  That  doesn't  come  in !  "  she  said. 

"  It  does  come  in !  It  comes  in  everywhere !  "  he  declared. 
"  There's  no  other  woman  in  the  world  that  would  have 
done  so  much  for  a  poor  forlorn  old  tramp  like  that,  adrift 
on  the  country  roads.  And  you  exposed  yourself  to  some 
risk,  too,  Mary!  He  might  have  been  a  dangerous  char- 
acter !  " 

"  Poor  dear,  he  didn't  look  it,"  she  said  gently — "  and  he 
hasn't  proved  it.  Everything  has  gone  well  for  me  since 
I  did  my  best  for  him.  It  was  even  through  him  that  you 
came  to  know  me,  Angus! — think  of  that!  Blessings  on 
the  dear  old  man! — I'm  sure  he  must  be  an  angel  in 
disguise ! " 

He  smiled. 

"  Well,  we  never  know !  "  he  said.  "  Angels  certainly 
don't  come  to  us  with  all  the  celestial  splendour  which 
is  supposed  to  belong  to  them — they  may  perhaps  choose 
the  most  unlikely  way  in  which  to  make  their  errands 
known.  I  have  often — especially  lately — thought  that  I 
have  seen  an  angel  looking  at  me  out  of  the  eyes  of  a 
woman !  " 

"  You  will  talk  poetry !  "  protested  Mary. 

"  I'm  not  talking  it — I'm  living  it !  "  he  answered. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  said  to  this.  He  was  an  in- 
corrigible lover,  and  remonstrances  were  in  vain. 


332      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  You  must  not  tell  David's  real  history  to  any  of  the 
villagers,"  said  Mary  presently,  as  they  came  in  sight  of  her 
cottage — "  I  wouldn't  like  them  to  know  it." 

"They  shall  never  know  it  so  far  as  I  am  concerned," 
he  answered.  "  He's  been  a  good  friend  to  me — and  I 
wouldn't  cause  him  a  moment's  trouble.  I'd  like  to  make 
him  happier  if  I  could ! " 

"  I  don't  think  that's  possible," — and  her  eyes  were 
clouded  for  a  moment  with  a  shadow  of  melancholy — "  You 
see  he  has  no  money,  except  the  little  he  earns  by  basket- 
making,  and  he's  very  far  from  strong.  We  must  be  kind 
to  him,  Angus,  as  long  as  he  needs  kindness." 

Angus  agreed,  with  sundry  ways  of  emphasis  that  need 
not  here  be  narrated,  as  they  composed  a  formula  which 
could  not  be  rendered  into  set  language.  Arriving  at  the 
cottage  they  found  the  door  open,  and  no  one  in  the  kitchen, 
— but  on  the  table  lay  two  sprigs  of  sweetbriar.  Angus 
caught  sight  of  them  at  once. 

"  Mary!    See!    Don't  you  think  he  knows?  " 

She  stood  hesitating,  with  a  lovely  wavering  colour  in 
her  cheeks. 

"  Don't  you  remember,"  he  went  on,  "  you  gave  me  a 
bit  of  sweetbriar  on  the  evening  of  the  first  day  we  ever 
met?" 

"  I  remember !  "  and  her  voice  was  very  soft  and  tremu- 
lous. 

"  I  have  that  piece  of  sweetbriar  still,"  he  said ;  "  I  shall 
never  part  with  it.  And  old  David  must  have  known  all 
about  it ! " 

He  took  up  the  little  sprays  set  ready  for  them,  and 
putting  one  in  his  own  buttonhole,  fastened  the  other  in 
her  bodice  with  a  loving,  lingering  touch. 

"  It's  a  good  emblem,"  he  said,  kissing  her — "  Sweet 
Briar — sweet  Love! — not  without  thorns,  which  are  the 
safety  of  the  rose !  " 

A  slow  step  sounded  on  the  garden  path,  and  they  saw 
Helmsley  approaching,  with  the  tiny  "  Charlie "  running 
at  his  heels.  Pausing  on  the  threshold  of  the  open  door, 
he  looked  at  them  with  a  questioning  smile. 

"Well,  did  you  see  the  sunset?"  he  asked,  "Or  only 
each  other  ?  " 

Mary  ran  to  him,  and  impulsively  threw  her  arms  about 
his  neck. 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   333 

"Oh  David!"  she  said.  "Dear  old  David!  I  am  so 
happy ! " 

He  was  silent, — her  gentle  embrace  almost  unmanned 
him.  He  stretched  out  a  hand  to  Angus,  who  grasped  it 
warmly. 

"  So  it's  all  right ! "  he  said,  in  a  low  voice  that  trembled 
a  little.  "You've  settled  it  together?" 

"  Yes — we've  settled  it,  David !  "  Angus  answered  cheer- 
ily. "  Give  us  your  blessing !  " 

"  You  have  that — God  knows  you  have  that !  " — and  as 
Mary,  in  her  usual  kindly  way,  took  his  hat  and  stick  from 
him,  keeping  her  arm  through  his  as  he  went  to  his  ac- 
customed chair  by  the  fireside,  he  glanced  at  her  tenderly. 
"  You  have  it  with  all  my  heart  and  soul,  Mr.  Reay ! — and 
as  for  this  dear  lady  who  is  to  be  your  wife,  all  I  can  say 
is  that  you  have  won  a  treasure — yes,  a  treasure  of  good- 
ness and  sweetness  and  patience,  and  most  heavenly  kind- 

rtpcc " 

ness 

His  voice  failed  him,  and  the  quick  tears  sprang  to  Mary's 
eyes. 

"  Now,  David,  please  stop !  "  she  said,  with  a  look  be- 
tween affection  and  remonstrance.  "  You  are  a  terrible 
flatterer!  You  mustn't  spoil  me." 

"  Nothing  will  spoil  you !  "  he  answered,  quietly.  "  Noth- 
ing could  spoil  you!  All  the  joy  in  the  world,  all  the 
prosperity  in  the  world,  could  not  change  your  nature,  my 
dear !  Mr.  Reay  knows  that  as  well  as  I  do, — and  I'm  sure 
he  thanks  God  for  it!  You  are  all  love  and  gentleness, 
as  a  woman  should  be, — as  all  women  would  be  if  they  were 
wise !  " 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  raising  himself  a  little 
more  uprightly  in  his  chair,  looked  at  them  both  earnestly. 

"  And  now  that  you  have  made  up  your  minds  to  share 
your  lives  together,"  he  -went  on,  "  you  must  not  think  that 
I  will  be  so  selfish  as  to  stay  on  here  and  be  a  burden  to 
you  both.  I  should  like  to  see  you  married,  but  after  that 
I  will  go  away " 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort !  "  said  Mary,  dropping 
on  her  knees  beside  him  and  lifting  her  serene  eyes  to 
his  face.  "  You  don't  .want  to  make  us  unhappy,  do  you  ? 
This  is  your  home,  as  long  as  it  is  ours,  remember!  We 
would  not  have  you  leave  us  on  any  account,  would  we. 
Angus?" 


334      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Indeed  no !  "  answered  Reay,  heartily.  "  David,  what 
are  you  talking  about?  Aren't  you  the  cause  of  my 
knowing  Mary?  Didn't  you  bring  me  to  this  dear  little 
cottage  first  of  all?  Don't  I  owe  all  my  happiness  to  you? 
And  you  talk  about  going  away!  It's  pretty  evident  you 
don't  know  what's  good  for  you !  Look  here !  If  I'm  good 
for  anything  at  all,  I'm  good  for  hard  work — and  for  that 
matter  I  may  as  well  go  in  for  the  basket-making  trade  as 
well  as  the  book-making  profession.  We've  got  Mary  to 
work  for,  David ! — and  we'll  both  work  for  her — together !  " 

Helmsley  turned  upon  him  a  face  in  which  the  expres- 
sion was  difficult  to  define. 

"  You  really  mean  that  ?  "  he  said. 

"Really  mean  it!  Of  course  I  do!  Why  shouldn't  I 
mean  it  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  Helmsley,  looking 
down  on  Mary  as  she  knelt  beside  him,  laid  his  hand  caress- 
ingly on  her  hair. 

"  I  think,"  he  said  gently,  "  that  you  are  both  too  kind- 
hearted  and  impulsive,  and  that  you  are  undertaking  a 
task  which  should  not  be  imposed  upon  you.  You  offer 
me  a  continued  home  with  you  after  your  marriage — but 
who  am  I  that  I  should  accept  such  generosity  from  you? 
I  am  not  getting  younger.  Every  day  robs  me  of  some 
strength — and  my  work — such  work  as  I  can  do — will  be 
of  very  little  use  to  you.  I  may  suffer  from  illness,  which  will 
cause  you  trouble  and  expense, — death  is  closer  to  me  than 
life — and  why  should  I  die  on  your  hands?  It  can  only 
mean  trouble  for  you  if  I  stay  on, — and  though  I  am 
grateful  to  you  with  all  my  heart — more  grateful  than 
I  can  say  " — and  his  voice  trembled — "  I  know  I  ought 
to  be  unselfish, — and  that  the  truest  and  best  way  to  thank 
you  for  all  you  have  done  for  me  is  to  go  away  and  leave 
you  in  peace  and  happiness " 

"  We  should  not  be  happy  without  you,  David !  "  de- 
clared Mary.  "  Can't  you,  won't  you  understand  that  we 
are  both  fond  of  you  ?  " 

"  Fond  of  me !  "  And  he  smiled.  "  Fond  of  a  useless 
old  wreck  who  can  scarcely  earn  a  day's  wage !  " 

"  That's  rather  wide  of  the  mark,  David !  "  said  Reay. 
"  Mary's  not  the  woman — and  I'm  sure  I'm  not  the  man 
— to  care  for  any  one  on  account  of  the  money  he  can  make. 
We  like  you  for  yourself, — so  don't  spoil  this  happiest  day 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   335 

of  our  lives  by  suggesting  any  separation  between  us.  Do 
you  hear  ?  " 

"  I  hear !  " — and  a  sudden  brightness  flashed  up  in  Helms- 
ley's  sunken  eyes,  making  them  look  almost  young — "  And 
I  understand!  I  understand  that  though  I  am  poor  and 
old,  and  a  stranger  to  you, — you  are  giving  me  friendship 
such  as  rich  men  often  seek  for  and  never  find ! — and  I  will 
try, — yes,  I  will  try,  God  helping  me, — to  be  worthy  of  your 
trust !  If  I  stay  with  you " 

"  There  must  me  no  '  if  '  in  the  case,  David !  "  said  Mary, 
smiling  up  at  him. 

He  stroked  her  bright  hair  caressingly. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  put  it  not  '  if,'  but  as  long  as  I  stay 
with  you,"  he  answered — "  as  long  as  I  stay  with  you,  I 
will  do  all  I  can  to  show  you  how  grateful  I  am  to  you, — 
and — and — I  will  never  give  you  cause  " — here  he  spoke 
more  slowly,  and  with  deliberate  emphasis — "  I  will  never 
give  you  cause  to  regret  your  confidence  in  me!  I  want 
you  both  to  be  glad — not  sorry — that  you  spared  a  lonely 
old  man  a  little  of  your  affection !  " 

"  We  are  glad,  David !  " — and  Mary,  as  he  lifted  his  hand 
from  her  head,  caught  it  and  kissed  it  lightly.  "  And  we 
shall  never  be  sorry !  And  here  is  Charlie  " — and  she 
picked  up  the  little  dog  as  she  spoke  and  fondled  it  play- 
fully,— "  wondering  why  he  is  not  included  in  the  family 
party !  For,  after  all,  it  is  quite  your  affair,  isn't  it,  Charlie  ? 
You  were  the  cause  of  my  finding  David  out  on  the  hills! 
— and  David  was  the  cause  of  my  knowing  Angus — so  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  you,  nothing  would  have  happened  at 
all,  Charlie! — and  I  should  have  been  a  lonely  old  maid 
all  the  days  of  my  life!  And  I  can't  do  anything  to  show 
my  gratitude  to  you,  you  quaint  wee  soul,  but  give  you  a 
saucer  of  cream !  " 

ShjC  laughed,  and  springing  up,  began  to  prepare  the 
tea.  While  she  was  moving  quickly  to  and  fro  on  this 
household  business,  Helmsley  beckoned  Reay  to  come  closer 
to  him. 

"  Speak  frankly,  Mr.  Reay !  "  he  said.  "  As  the  master 
of  her  heart,  you  are  the  master  of  her  home.  I  can  easily 
slip  away — and  tramping  is  not  such  hard  work  in  summer 
time.  Shall  I  go?" 

"  If  you  go,  I  shall  start  out  and  bring  you  back  again," 
replied  Reay,  shaking  his  head  at  him  determinedly.  "  You 


336      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

won't  get  so  far  but  that  I  shall  be  able  to  catch  you  up  in 
an  hour!  Please  consider  that  you  belong  to  us, — and 
that  we  have  no  intention  of  parting  with  you !  " 

Tears  rose  in  Helmsley's  eyes,  and  for  a  moment  he 
covered  them  with  his  hand.  Angus  saw  that  he  was 
deeply  moved,  and  to  avoid  noticing  him,  especially  as  he 
was  somewhat  affected  himself  by  the  touching  grateful- 
ness of  this  apparently  poor  and  lonely  old  man,  went  after 
Mary  with  all  the  pleasant  ease  and  familiarity  of  an  ac- 
cepted lover,  to  help  her  bring  in  the  tea.  The  tiny 
"  Charlie,"  meanwhile,  sitting  on  the  hearth  in  a  vigilantly 
erect  attitude,  with  quivering  nose  pointed  in  a  creamward 
direction,  waited  for  the  approach  of  the  expected  afternoon 
refreshment,  trembling  from  head  to  tail  with  nervous  ex- 
citement. And  Helmsley,  left  alone  for  those  few  moments, 
presently  mastered  the  strong  emotion  which  made  him 
long  to  tell  his  true  history  to  the  two  sincere  souls  who, 
out  of  his  whole  life's  experience,  had  alone  proved  them- 
selves faithful  to  the  spirit  of  a  friendship  wherein  the 
claims  of  cash  had  no  part.  Regaining  full  command  of 
himself,  and  determining  to  act  out  the  part  he  had  elected 
to  play  to  whatever  end  should  most  fittingly  arrive, — an 
end  he  could  not  as  yet  foresee, — he  sat  quietly  in  his  chair 
as  usual,  gazing  into  the  fire  with  the  meditative  patience 
and  calm  of  old  age,  and  silently  building  up  in  a  waking 
dream  the  last  story  of  his  House  of  Love, — which  now 
promised  to  be  like  that  house  spoken  of  in  the  Divine 
Parable — "  And  the  rain  descended,  and  the  floods  came, 
and  the  winds  blew  and  beat  upon  that  house,  and  it  fell 
not,  for  it  was  founded  upon  a  rock."  For  as  he  knew, — 
and  as  we  all  must  surely  know, — the  greatest  rains  and 
floods  and  winds  of  a  world  of  sorrow,  are  powerless  to 
destroy  love,  if  love  be  true. 


CHAPTER     XX 

THREE  days  later,  when  the  dawn  was  scarcely  declared 
and  the  earliest  notes  of  the  waking  birds  trembled  on  the 
soft  air  with  the  faint  sweetness  of  a  far-off  fluty  piping, 
the  door  of  Mary  Deane's  cottage  opened  stealthily,  and 
David  Helmsley,  dressed  ready  for  a  journey,  stepped  noise- 
lessly out  into  the  little  garden.  He  wore  the  same  ordinary 
workman's  outfit  in  which  he  had  originally  started  on  his 
intended  "  tramp,"  including  the  vest  which  he  had  lined 
with  bank-notes,  and  which  he  had  not  used  once  since  his 
stay  with  Mary  Deane.  For  she  had  insisted  on  his  wearing 
the  warmer  and  softer  garments  which  had  once  belonged 
to  her  own  father, — and  all  these  he  had  now  taken  off 
and  left  behind  him,  carefully  folded  up  on  the  bed  in  his 
room.  He  had  examined  his  money  and  had  found  it  just 
as  he  had  placed  it, — even  the  little  "  surprise  packet  " 
which  poor  Tom  o'  the  Gleam  had  collected  for  his  benefit 
in  the  "  Trusty  Man's  "  common  room,  was  still  in  the  side- 
pocket  where  he  had  himself  put  it.  Unripping  a  corner 
of  the  vest  lining,  he  took  out  two  five-pound  notes,  and 
with  these  in  a  rough  leather  purse  for  immediate  use,  and 
his  stout  ash  stick  grasped  firmly  in  his  hand,  he  started  out 
to  walk  to  the  top  of  the  coombe  where  he  knew  the  path 
brought  him  to  the  verge  of  the  highroad  leading  to  Mine- 
head.  As  he  moved  almost  on  tip-toe  through  Mary's  gar- 
den, now  all  fragrant  with  golden  wall-flowers,  lilac,  and 
mayblossom,  he  paused  a  moment, — looking  up  at  the  pic- 
turesque gabled  eaves  and  latticed  windows.  A  sudden 
sense  of  loneliness  affected  him  almost  to  tears.  For  now 
he  had  not  even  the  little  dog  Charlie  with  him  to  console 
him — that  canine  friend  slept  in  a  cushioned  basket  in 
Mary's  room,  and  was  therefore  all  unaware  that  his  mas- 
ter was  leaving  him. 

"  But,  please  God,  I  shall  come  back  in  a  day  or  two !  " 
he  murmured.  "  Please  God,  I  shall  see  this  dear  shrine 
of  peace  and  love  again  before  I  die!  Meanwhile — good- 
bye, Mary!  Good-bye,  dearest  and  kindest  of  women! 
God  bless  you !  " 

337 


338      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

He  turned  away  with  an  effort — and,  lifting-  the  latch 
of  the  garden  gate,  opened  it  and  closed  it  softly  behind  him. 
Then  he  began  the  ascent  of  the  coombe.  Not  a  soul  was 
in  sight, — the  actual  day  had  not  yet  begun.  The  hill  tor- 
rent flowed  along  with  a  subdued  purling  sound  over  the 
rough  stones  and  pebbles, — there  had  been  little  rain  of  late, 
and  the  water  was  shallow,  though  clear  and  bright  enough 
to  gleam  like  a  wavering  silver  ribbon  in  the  dimness  of 
the  early  morning, — and  as  he  followed  it  upward  and 
finally  reached  a  point  from  whence  the  open  sea  was  visible, 
he  rested  a  moment,  leaning  on  his  stick  and  looking  back- 
ward on  the  way  he  had  come.  Strangely  beautiful  and 
mystical  was  the  scene  his  eyes  dwelt  upon, — or  rather  per- 
haps it  should  be  said  that  he  saw  it  in  a  somewhat  strange 
and  mystical  fashion  of  his  own.  There,  out  beyond  the 
furthest  edge  of  land,  lay  the  ocean,  shadowed  just  now  by 
a  delicate  dark  grey  mist,  which,  like  a  veil,  covered  its 
placid  bosom, — a  mist  which  presently  the  rising  sun  would 
scatter  with  its  glorious  rays  of  gold ; — here  at  his  feet 
nestled  Weircombe, — a  cluster  of  simple  cottages,  sweetly 
adorned  by  nature  with  her  fairest  garlanding  of  spring- 
time flowers, — and  behind  him,  just  across  a  length  of  bar- 
ren moor,  was  the  common  highroad  leading  to  the  wider, 
busier  towns.  And  he  thought  as  he  stood  alone, — a  frail 
and  solitary  figure,  gazing  dreamily  out  of  himself,  as  it 
were,  to  things  altogether  beyond  himself, — that  the  dim 
and  shadowy  ocean  was  like  the  vast  Unknown  which  we 
call  Death, — which  we  look  upon  tremblingly, — afraid  of 
its  darkness,  and  unable  to  realise  that  the  sun  of  Life  will 
ever  rise  again  to  pierce  its  gloom  with  glory.  And  the 
little  world — the  only  world  that  can  be  called  a  world, — 
namely,  that  special  corner  of  the  planet  which  holds  the 
hearts  that  love  us — a  world  which  for  him,  the  multi- 
millionaire, was  just  a  tiny  village  with  one  sweet  woman 
living  in  it — resembled  a  garland  of  flowers  flung  down 
from  the  rocks  as  though  to  soften  their  ruggedness, — a  gar- 
land broken  asunder  at  the  shoreline,  even  as  all  earthly 
garlands  must  break  and  fade  at  the  touch  of  the  first  cold 
wave  of  the  Infinite.  As  for  the  further  road  in  which 
he  was  about  to  turn  and  go,  that,  to  his  fancy,  was  a 
nearer  similitude  of  an  approach  to  hell  than  any  scene 
ever  portrayed  in  Dante's  Divine  Comedy.  For  it  led  to 
the  crowded  haunts  of  men — the  hives  of  greedy  business, 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   339 

— the  smoky,  suffocating  centres  where  each  human  unit 
seeks  to  over-reach  and  outrival  the  other — where  there  is 
no  time  to  be  kind — no  room  to  be  courteous;  where  the 
passion  for  gain  and  the  worship  of  self  are  so  furious  and 
inexhaustible,  that  all  the  old  fair  virtues  which  make 
nations  great  and  lasting,  are  trampled  down  in  the  dust, 
and  jeered  at  as  things  contemptible  and  of  no  value, — 
where,  if  a  man  is  honourable,  he  is  asked  "  What  do  you 
get  by  it?" — and  where,  if  a  woman  would  remain  simple 
and  chaste,  she  is  told  she  is  giving  herself  "  no  chance." 
In  this  whirl  of  avarice,  egotism,  and  pushfulness,  Helms- 
ley  had  lived  nearly  all  his  life,  always  conscious  of,  and 
longing  for,  something  better — something  truer  and  more 
productive  of  peace  and  lasting  good.  Almost  everything 
he  had  touched  had  turned  to  money, — while  nothing  he  had 
ever  gained  had  turned  to  love.  Except  now — now  when 
the  end  was  drawing  nigh — when  he  must  soon  say  farewell 
to  the  little  earth,  so  replete  with  natural  beauty — farewell 
to  the  lovely  sky,  which  whether  in  storm  or  calm,  ever 
shows  itself  as  a  visible  reflex  of  divine  majesty  and  power 
— farewell  to  the  sweet  birds,  which  for  no  thanks  at  all, 
charm  the  ear  by  their  tender  songs  and  graceful  winged 
ways — farewell  to  the  flowers,  which,  flourishing  in  the 
woods  and  fields  without  care,  lift  their  cups  to  the  sun, 
and  fill  the  air  with  fragrance, — and  above  all,  farewell  to 
the  affection  which  he  had  found  so  late  ! — to  the  heart  whose 
truth  he  had  tested — to  the  woman  for  whose  sake,  could 
he  in  some  way  have  compassed  her  surer  and  greater  hap- 
piness, he  would  gladly  have  lived  half  his  life  over  again, 
working  with  every  moment  of  it  to  add  to  her  joy.  But 
an  instinctive  premonition  warned  him  that  the  sands  in 
Time's  hour-glass  were  for  him  running  to  an  end, — there 
was  no  leisure  left  to  him  now  for  any  new  scheme  or  plan 
by  which  he  could  improve  or  strengthen  that  which  he  had 
already  accomplished.  He  realised  this  fully,  with  a  passing 
pang  of  regret  which  soon  tempered  itself  into  patient 
resignation, — and  as  the  first  arrowy  beam  of  the  rising 
sun  shot  upwards  from  the  east,  he  slowly  turned  his  back 
on  the  quiet  hamlet  where  in  a  few  months  he  had  found 
what  he  had  vainly  sought  for  in  many  long  and  weary 
years,  and  plodded  steadily  across  the  moor  to  the  high- 
road. Here  he  sat  down  on  the  bank  to  wait  till  some  con- 
veyance going  to  Minehead  should  pass  by — for  he  knew 


340      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

he  had  not  sufficient  strength  to  walk  far.  "  Tramping 
it "  now  was  for  him  impossible, — moreover,  his  former 
thirst  for  adventure  was  satisfied;  he  had  succeeded  in 
his  search  for  "  a  friend  "  without  going  so  far  as  Cornwall. 
There  was  no  longer  any  cause  for  him  to  endure  unnec- 
essary fatigue — so  he  waited  patiently,  listening  to  the  first 
wild  morning  carol  of  a  skylark,  which,  bounding  up  from 
its  nest  hard  by,  darted  into  the  air  with  quivering  wings 
beating  against  the  dispersing  vapours  of  the  dawn,  and  sang 
aloud  in  the  full  rapture  of  a  joy  made  perfect  by  inno- 
cence. And  he  thought  of  the  lovely  lines  of  George 
Herbert  :— 

"  How  fresh,  O  Lord,  how  sweet  and  clean 
Are  Thy  returns !    Ev'n  as  the  flowers  in  Spring, 

To  which,  besides  their  own  demean, 
The  late-past  frosts  tributes  of  pleasure  bring; 
Grief  melts  away 
Like  snow  in  May, 
As  if  there  were  no  such  cold  thing. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  my  shrivell'd  heart 
Could  have  recover'd  greenness?    It  was  gone 

Quite  under  ground;  as  flowers  depart 
To  see  their  mother-root,  when  they  have  blown, 
Where  they  together    - 
All  the  hard  weather, 
Dead  to  the  world,  keep  house  unknown. 

"  These  are  Thy  wonders,  Lord  of  power, 
Killing  and  quick'ning,  bringing  down  to  Hell 

And  up  to  Heaven  in  an  hour; 
Making  a  chiming  of  a  passing  bell. 
We  say  amiss 
This  or  that  is ; 
Thy  Word  is  all,  if  we  could  spell!" 

"  If  we  could  spell !  "  he  murmured,  half  aloud.  "  Ay, 
if  we  could  learn  even  a  quarter  of  the  alphabet  which 
would  help  us  to  understand  the  meaning  of  that  '  Word ! ' 
— the  Word  which  '  was  in  the  beginning,  and  the  word 
was  with  God,  and  the  word  was  God ! '  Then  we  should  be 
wise  indeed  with  a  wisdom  that  would  profit  us, — we  should 
have  no  fears  and  no  forebodings, — we  should  know  that  all 
is,  all  must  be  for  the  best !  "  And  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
slowly  brightening  sky.  "  Yet,  after  all,  the  attitude  of 
simple  faith  is  the  right  one  for  us,  if  we  would  call  our- 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN      341! 

selves  children  of  God — the  faith  which  affirms — '  Though 
He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  Him ! ' ' 

As  he  thus  mused,  a  golden  light  began  to  spread  around 
him, — the  sun  had  risen  above  the  horizon,  and  its  cheerful 
radiance  sparkled  on  every  leaf  and  every  blade  of  grass 
that  bore  a  drop  of  dew.  The  morning  mists  rose  hover- 
ingly,  paused  awhile,  and  then  lightly  rolled  away,  disclosing 
one  picture  after  another  of  exquisite  sylvan  beauty, — every 
living  thing  took  up  anew  its  burden  of  work  and  pleasure 
for  the  day,  and  "  Now  "  was  again  declared  the  acceptable 
time.  To  enjoy  the  moment,  and  to  make  much  of  the 
moment  while  it  lasts,  is  the  very  keynote  of  Nature's  hap- 
piness, and  David  Helmsley  found  himself  on  this  particular 
morning  more  or  less  in  tune  with  the  general  sentiment. 
Certain  sad  thoughts  oppressed  him  from  time  to  time,  but 
they  were  tempered  and  well-nigh  overcome  by  the  secret 
pleasure  he  felt  within  himself  at  having  been  given  the 
means  wherewith  to  ensure  happiness  for  those  whom  he 
considered  were  more  deserving  of  it  than  himself.  And  he 
sat  patiently  watching  the  landscape  grow  in  glory  as  the 
sun  rose  higher  and  higher,  till  presently,  struck  by  a  sudden 
fear  lest  Mary  Deane  should  get  up  earlier  than  usual,  and 
missing  him,  should  come  out  to  seek  for  him,  he  left  the 
bank  by  the  road-side,  and  began  to  trudge  slowly  along  in 
the  direction  of  Minehead.  He  had  not  walked  for  a  much 
longer  time  than  about  ten  minutes,  when  he  heard  the 
crunching  sound  of  heavy  wheels  behind  him,  and,  looking 
back,  saw  a  large  mill  waggon  piled  with  sacks  of  flour 
and  drawn  by  two  sturdy  horses,  coming  leisurely  along. 
He  waited  till  it  drew  near,  and  then  called  to  the  wag- 
goner— 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  lift  to  Minehead  for  half  a  crown?  " 

The  waggoner,  stout,  red-faced,  and  jolly-looking,  nod- 
ded an  emphatic  assent. 

"  I'd  do  it  for  'arf  the  money !  "  he  said.  "  Gi'  us  yer 
'and,  old  gaffer!" 

The  "  old  gaffer "  obeyed,  and  was  soon  comfortably 
seated  between  the  projecting  corners  of  two  flour  sacks, 
which  in  their  way  were  as  comfortable  as  cushions. 

"  'Old  on  there,"  said  the  waggoner,  "  an'  ye'll  be  as  safe 
as  though  ye  was  in  Abram's  bosom.  Not  that  I  knows 
much  about  Abram  anyway.  Wheer  abouts  d'ye  want  in 
Minehead  ?  " 


342      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  The  railway  station." 

"  Right  y'  are !  That's  my  ticket  too.  Ttre<3  o>'  trampin' 
it,  I'  s'pose,  aint  ye  ?  " 

"  A  bit  tired — yes.     I've  walked  since  daybreak/' 

The  waggoner  cracked  his  whip,  and  the  horses  plodded 
on.  Their  heavy  hoofs  on  the  dusty  road,  and  the  noise 
made  by  the  grind  of  the  cart  wheels,  checked  any  attempt 
at  prolonged  conversation,  for  which  Helmsley  was  thank- 
ful. He  considered  himself  lucky  in  having  met  with  a  total 
stranger,  for  the  name  of  the  owner  of  the  waggon,  which 
was  duly  displayed  both  on  the  vehicle  itself  and  the  sacks  of 
flour  it  contained,  was  unknown  to  him,  and  the  place  from 
which  it  had  come  was  an  inland  village  several  miles  away 
from  Weircombe.  He  was  therefore  safe — so  far — from 
any  chance  of  recognition.  To  be  driven  along  in  a  heavy 
mill  cart  was  a  rumblesome,  drowsy  way  of  travelling,  but 
it  was  restful,  and  when  Minehead  was  at  last  reached,  he 
did  not  feel  himself  at  all  tired.  The  waggoner  had  to  get 
his  cargo  of  flour  off  by  rail,  so  there  was  no  lingering  in 
the  town  itself,  which  was  as  yet  scarcely  astir.  They  were 
in  time  for  the  first  train  going  to  Exeter,  and  Helmsley, 
changing  one  of  his  five-pound  notes  at  the  railway  station, 
took  a  third-class  ticket  to  that  place.  Then  he  paid  the 
promised  half-crown  to  his  friendly  driver,  with  an  extra 
threepence  for  a  morning  "  dram,"  whereat  the  waggoner 
chuckled. 

"  Thankee !     I  zee  ye  be  no  temp'rance  man !  " 

Helmsley  smiled. 

"  No.     I'm  a  sober  man,  not  a  temperance  man !  " 

"Ay!  We'd  a  parzon  in  these  'ere  parts  as  was  tem- 
p'rance, but  'e  took  'is  zpirits  different  like !  'E  zkorned  'is 
glass,  but  'e  loved  'is  gel!  Har — ar — ar!  Ivir  'eerd  o' 
Parzon  Arbroath  as  woz  put  out  o'  the  Church  for  'avin'  a 
fav'rite?" 

"  I  saw  something  about  it  in  the  papers,"  said  Helmsley. 

"Ay,  'twoz  in  the  papers.  Har — ar — ar!  'E  woz  a 
temp'rance  man.  But  wot  I  sez  is,  we'se  all  a  bit  o'  devil 
in  us,  an'  we  jcan't  be  temp'rance  ivry  which  way.  An'  zo, 
if  not  the  glass,  then  the  gel !  Har — ar — ar !  Good-day  t' 
ye,  an'  thank  ye  kindly !  " 

\  He  went  off  then,  and  a  few  minutes  later  the  tram  came 
gliding  in.  The  whirr  and  noise  of  the  panting  engine  con- 
fused Helmsley's  ears  and  dazed  his  brain,  after  his  months 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   343 

of  seclusion  in  such  a  quiet  little  spot  as  Weircombe, — and 
he  was  seized  with  quite  a  nervous  terror  and  doubt  as  to 
whether  he  would  be  able,  after  all,  to  undertake  the  journey 
he  had  decided  upon,  alone.  But  an  energetic  porter  put  an 
end  to  his  indecision  by  opening  all  the  doors  of  the  various 
compartments  in  the  train  and  banging  them  to  again, 
whereupon  he  made  up  his  mind  quickly,  and  managed, 
with  some  little  difficulty,  to  clamber  up  the  high  step  of  a 
third-class  carriage  and  get  in  before  the  aforesaid  porter 
had  the  chance  to  push  him  in  head  foremost.  In  another 
few  minutes  the  engine  whistle  set  up  a  deafening  scream, 
and  the  train  ran  swiftly  out  of  the  station.  He  was  off ; — 
the  hills,  the  sea,  were  left  behind — and  Weircombe — rest- 
ful, simple  little  Weircombe,  seemed  not  only  miles  of  dis- 
tance, but  ages  of  time  away !  Had  he  ever  lived  there,  he 
hazily  wondered  ?  Would  he  ever  go  back  ?  Was  he  "  old 
David  the  basket-maker,"  or  David  Helmsley  the  million- 
aire? He  hardly  knew.  It  did  not  seem  worth  while  to 
consider  the  problem  of  his  own  identity.  One  figure  alone 
was  real, — one  face  alone  smiled  out  of  the  cloudy  vista  of 
thoughts  and  memories,  with  the  true  glory  of  an  ineffable 
tenderness — the  sweet,  pure  face  of  Mary,  with  her  clear 
and  candid  eyes  lighting  every  expression  to  new  loveliness. 
On  Angus  Reay  his  mind  did  not  dwell  so  much — Angus 
was  a  man — and  as  a  man  he  regarded  him  with  warm  liking 
and  sympathy — but  it  was  as  the  future  husband  and  pro- 
tector of  Mary  that  he  thought  of  him  most — as  the  one  out 
of  all  the  world  who  would  care  for  her,  when  he,  David 
Helmsley,  was  no  more.  Mary  was  the  centre  of  his  dreams 
— the  pivot  round  which  all  his  last  ambitions  in  this  world 
were  gathered  together  in  one  focus, — without  her  there 
was,  there  could  be  nothing  for  him — nothing  to  give  peace 
or  comfort  to  his  last  days — nothing  to  satisfy  him  as  to 
the  future  of  all  that  his  life  had  been  spent  to  gain. 

Meantime, — while  the  train  bearing  him  to  Exeter  was 
rushing  along  through  wide  and  ever-varying  stretches  of 
fair  landscape, — there  was  amazement  and  consternation  in 
the  little  cottage  he  had  left  behind  him.  Mary,  rising  from 
a  sound  night's  sleep,  and  coming  down  to  the  kitchen  as 
usual  to  light  the  fire  and  prepare  breakfast,  saw  a  letter  on 
the  table  addressed  to  her,  and  opening,  it  read  as  follows :— 


344      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  MY  DEAR  MARY, — Do  not  be  anxious  this  morning  when 
you  find  that  I  am  gone.  I  shall  not  be  long  away.  I  have 
an  idea  of  getting  some  work  to  do,  which  may  be  more 
useful  to  you  and  Angus  than  my  poor  attempts  at  basket- 
making.  At  any  rate  I  feel  it  would  be  wrong  if  I  did  not 
try  to  obtain  some  better  paying  employment,  of  a  kind 
which  I  can  do  at  home,  so  that  I  may  be  of  greater  assist- 
ance to  you  both  when  you  marry  and  begin  your  double 
housekeeping.  Old  though  I  am  and  ailing,  I  want  to  feel 
less  of  a  burden  and  more  of  a  help.  You  will  not  think 
any  the  worse  of  me  for  wishing  this.  You  have  been  so 
good  and  charitable  to  me  in  my  need,  that  I  should  not  die 
happy  if  I,  in  my  turn,  did  not  make  an  effort  to  give  you 
some  substantial  proof  of  gratitude.  This  is  Tuesday  morn- 
ing, and  I  shall  hope  to  be  home  again  with  you  before  Sun- 
day. In  the  meanwhile,  do  not  worry  at  all  about  me,  for 
I  feel  quite  strong  enough  to  do  what  I  have  in  my  mind. 
I  leave  Charlie  with  you.  He  is  safest  and  happiest  in  your 
care.  Good-bye  for  a  little  while,  dear,  kind  friend,  and 
God  bless  you!  DAVID." 

She  read  this  with  amazement  and  distress,  the  tears  well- 
ing up  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  David  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Poor,  poor  old  man ! 
What  will  he  do  all  by  himself,  wandering  about  the  country 
with  no  money !  It's  dreadful !  How  could  he  think  of 
such  a  thing!  He  is  so  weak,  too! — he  can't  possibly  get 
very  far !  " 

Here  a  sudden  thought  struck  her,  and  picking  up  Charlie, 
who  had  followed  her  downstairs  from  her  bedroom  and 
was  now  trotting  to  and  fro,  sniffing  the  air  in  a  somewhat 
disconsolate  and  dubious  manner,  she  ran  out  of  the  house 
bareheaded,  and  hurried  up  to  the  top  of  the  "  coombe." 
There  she  paused,  shading  her  eyes  from  the  sun  and  look- 
ing all  about  her.  It  was  a  lovely  morning,  and  the  sea, 
calm  and  sparkling  with  sunbeams,  shone  like  a  blue  glass 
flecked  with  gold.  The  sky  was  clear,  and  the  landscape 
fresh  and  radiant  with  the  tender  green  of  the  springtime 
verdure.  But  everything  was  quite  solitary.  Vainly  her 
glance  swept  from  left  to  right  and  from  right  to  left  again, 
— there  was  no  figure  in  sight  such  as  the  one  she  sought 
and  half-expected  to  discover.  Putting  Charlie  down  to 
follow  at  her  heels,  she  walked  quickly  across  the  interven- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   S45 

ing  breadth  of  moor  to  the  highroad,  and  there  paused,  look- 
ing up  and  down  its  dusty  length,  hoping  against  hope  that 
she  might  see  David  somewhere  trudging  slowly  along  on 
his  lonely  way,  but  there  was  not  a  human  creature  visible. 
Charlie,  assuming  a  highly  vigilant  attitude,  cocked  his  tiny 
ears  and  sniffed  the  air  suspiciously,  as  though  he  scented 
the  trail  of  his  lost  master,  but  no  clue  presented  itself  as 
likely  to  serve  the  purpose  of  tracking  the  way  in  which  he 
had  gone.  Moved  by  a  sudden  loneliness  and  despondency, 
Mary  slowly  returned  to  the  cottage,  carrying  the  little  dog 
in  her  arms,  and  was  affected  to  tears  again  when  she  en- 
tered the  kitchen,  because  it  looked  so  empty.  The  bent 
figure,  the  patient  aged  face,  on  which  for  her  there  was 
ever  a  smile  of  grateful  tenderness — these  had  composed  a 
picture  by  her  fireside  to  which  she  had  grown  affectionately 
accustomed, — and  to  see  it  no  longer  there  made  her  feel 
almost  desolate.  She  lit  the  fire  listlessly  and  prepared  her 
own  breakfast  without  interest — it  was  a  solitary  meal  and 
lacked  flavour.  She  was  glad  when,  after  breakfast,  Angus 
Reay  came  in,  as  was  now  his  custom,  to  say  good-morning, 
and  to  "  gain  inspiration," — so  he  told  her, — for  his  day's 
work.  He  was  no  less  astonished  than  herself  at  David's 
sudden  departure. 

"  Poor  old  chap !  I  believe  he  thinks  he  is  in  our 
way,  Mary !  "  he  said,  as  he  read  the  letter  of  explana- 
tion which  their  missing  friend  had  left  behind  him.  "  And 
yet  he  says  quite  plainly  here  that  he  will  be  back  be- 
fore Sunday.  Perhaps  he  will.  But  where  can  he  have 
gone  to  ?  " 

"  Not  far,  surely !  "  and  Mary  looked,  as  she  felt,  per- 
plexed. "  He  has  no  money !  " 

"Not  a  penny?" 

"  Not  a  penny !  He  makes  me  take  everything  he  earns 
to  help  pay  for  his  keep  and  as  something  towards  the  cost 
of  his  illness  last  year.  I  don't  want  it — but  it  pleases  him 
that  I  should  have  it " 

"  Of  course — I  understand  that," — and  Angus  slipped  an 
arm  round  her  waist,  while  he  read  the  letter  through  again. 
"  But  if  he  hasn't  a  penny,  how  can  he  get  along?  " 

"  He  must  be  on  the  tramp  again,"  said  Mary.  "  But 
he  isn't  strong  enough  to  tramp.  I  went  up  the  coombe 
this  morning  and  right  out  to  the  highroad,  for  I  thought 
I  might  see  him  and  catch  up  with  him — because  I  know  it 


346      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

would  take  him  ever  so  long  to  walk  a  mile.  But  he  had 
gone  altogether." 

Reay  stood  thinking. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Mary,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I'll  take  a  brisk 
walk  down  the  road  towards  Minehead.  I  should  think 
that's  the  only  place  where  he'd  try  for  work.  I  daresay  I 
shall  overtake  him." 

Her  eyes  brightened. 

"  Yes,  that's  quite  possible," — and  she  was  evidently 
pleased  at  the  suggestion.  "  He's  so  old  and  feeble,  and 
you're  so  strong  and  quick  on  your  feet " 

"  Quick  with  my  lips,  too,"  said  Angus,  promptly  kissing 
her.  "  But  I  shall  have  to  be  on  my  best  behaviour  now 
you're  all  alone  in  the  cottage,  Mary!  David  has  left  you 
defenceless !  " 

He  laughed,  but  as  she  raised  her  eyes  questioningly  to 
his  face,  grew  serious. 

"  Yes,  my  Mary !  You'll  have  to  stay  by  your  own  sweet 
lonesome !  Otherwise  all  the  dear,  kind,  meddlesome  old 
women  in  the  village  will  talk!  Mrs.  Twitt  will  lead  the 
chorus,  with  the  best  intentions,  unless — and  this  is  a  dread- 
ful alternative ! — you  can  persuade  her  to  come  up  and  play 
propriety ! " 

The  puzzled  look  left  her  face,  and  she  smiled  though  a 
wave  of  colour  flushed  her  cheeks. 

"  Oh !  I  see  what  you  mean,  Angus !  But  I'm  too  old 
to  want  looking  after — I  can  look  after  myself." 

"  Can  you  ?  "  And  he  took  her  into  his  arms  and  held 
her  fast.  "  And  how  will  you  do  it?  " 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  looking  into  his  eyes  with  a 
grave  and  musing  tenderness.  Then  she  said  quietly — 

"  By  trusting  you,  my  love,  now  and  always !  " 

Very  gently  he  released  her  from  his  embrace — very 
reverently  he  kissed  her. 

"  And  you  shall  never  regret  your  trust,  you  dear,  sweet 
angel  of  a  woman !  Be  sure  of  that !  Now  I'm  off  to  look 
for  David — I'll  try  and  bring  him  back  with  me.  By  the 
way,  Mary,  I've  told  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twitt  and  goo*d  old 
Bunce  that  we  are  engaged — so  the  news  is  now  the  public 
property  of  the  whole  village.  In  fact,  we  might  just  as 
well  have  put  up  the  banns  and  secured  the  parson !  " 

He  laughed  his  bright,  jovial  laugh,  and  throwing  on  his 
cap  went  out,  striding  up  the  coombe  with  swift,  easy  steps, 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   347 

and  whistling  joyously  "  My  Nannie  O  "  as  he  made  the 
ascent.  Twice  he  turned  to  wave  his  hand  to  Mary  who 
stood  watching  him  from  her  garden  gate,  and  then  he  dis- 
appeared. She  waited  a  moment  among  all  the  sweetly  per- 
fumed flowers  in  her  little  garden,  looking  at  the  bright 
glitter  of  the  hill  stream  as  it  flowed  equably  by. 

"  How  wonderful  it  is,"  she  thought,  "  that  God  should 
have  been  so  good  to  me !  I  have  done  nothing  to  deserve 
any  love  at  all,  and  yet  Angus  loves  me !  It  seems  too  beau- 
tiful to  be  real!  I  am  not  worthy  of  such  happiness! 
Sometimes  I  dare  not  think  too  much  of  it  lest  it  should  all 
prove  to  be  only  a  dream !  For  surely  no  one  in  the  world 
could  wish  for  a  better  life  than  we  shalLlive — Angus  and 
I — in  this  dear  little  cottage  together, — he  with  his  writing, 
which  I  know  will  some  day  move  the  world, — and  I  with 
my  usual  work,  helping  as  much  as  I  can  to  make  his  life 
sweet  to  him.  For  we  have  the  great  secret  of  all  joy — we 
love  each  other ! " 

With  her  eyes  full  of  the  dreamy  light  of  inward  heart's 
content,  she  turned  and  went  into  the  house.  The  sight  of 
David's  empty  chair  by  the  fire  troubled  her, — but  she  tried 
to  believe  that  Angus  would  succeed  in  finding  him  on  the 
highroad,  and  in  persuading  him  to  return  at  once.  To- 
wards noon  Mrs.  Twitt  came  in,  somewhat  out  of  breath, 
on  account  of  having  climbed  the  village  street  more  rapidly 
than  was  her  custom  on  such  a  warm  day  as  it  had  turned 
out  to  be,  and  straightway  began  conversation. 

"  Wonders  'ull  never  cease,  Mis'  Deane,  an'  that's  a  fact !  " 
she  said,  wiping  her  hot  face  with  the  corner  of  her  apron — 
"  An'  while  there's  life  there's  'ope !  I'd  as  soon  'a  thought 
o'  Weircombe  Church  walkin'  down  to  the  shore  an'  turnin' 
itself  into  a  fishin'  smack,  as  that  you'd  a'  got  engaged  to  be 
married !  I  would,  an'  that's  a  Gospel  truth !  Ye  seemed 
so  steady  like  an'  settled — lor'  a  mtissy  me !  "  And  here, 
despite  her  effort  to  look  serious,  a  broad  smile  got  the  better 
of  her.  "  An'  a  fine  man  too  you've  got, — none  o'  your 
scallywag  weaklings  as  one  sees  too  much  of  nowadays,  but 
a  real  upright  sort  o'  chap  wi'  no  nonsense  about  'im.  An' 
I  wishes  ye  well,  Mary,  my  dear," — and  the  worthy  soul 
took  Mary's  hand  in  hers  and  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss.  "  For 
it's  never  too  late  to  mend,  as  the  Scripter  tells  us,  an'  forbye 
ye're  not  in  yer  green  gooseberry  days  there's  those  as  thinks 
ripe  fruit  better  than  sour-growin'  young  codlings.  An'  ye 


348      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

may  take  'art  o'  grace  for  one  thing — them  as  marries  young 
settles  quickly  old — an'  to  look  at  the  skin  an'  the  'air  an' 
the  eyes  of  ye,  you  beat  ivery  gel  I've  ivir  seen  in  the  twen- 
ties, so  there's  good  preservin'  stuff  in  ye  wot'll  last.  An'  I 
bet  you're  more  fond  o'  the  man  ye've  got  late  than  if  ye'd 
caught  'im  early !  " 

Mary  laughed,  but  her  eyes  were  full  of  wistful  tender- 
ness. 

"  I  love  him  very  dearly,"  she  said  simply — "  And  I  know 
he's  a  great  deal  too  good  for  me." 

Mrs.  Twitt  sniffed  meaningly. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  in  any  way  sure  o'  that,"  she  observed. 
"  When  a  man's  too  good  for  a  woman  it's  what  we  may 
call  a  Testymen'  miracle.  For  the  worst  wife  as  ivir  lived 
is  never  so  bad  as  a  bad  'usband.  There's  a  suthin'  in  a 
man  wot's  real  devil-like  when  it  gits  the  uppermost  of  'im — 
an'  'e's  that  crafty  born  that  I've  known  'im  to  be  singin' 
hymns  one  hour  an'  drinkin'  'isself  silly  the  next.  'Owsom- 
ever,  Mister  Reay  seems  a  decent  chap,  forbye  'e  do  give  'is 
time  to  writin'  which  don't  appear  to  make  'is  pot  boil " 

"  Ah,  but  he  will  be  famous ! "  interrupted  Mary  exult- 
antly. "  I  know  he  will !  " 

"An'  what's  the  good  o'  that?"  enquired  Mrs.  Twitt. 
*'  If  bein'  famous  is  bein'  printed  about  in  the  noospapers, 
I'd  rather  do  without  it  if  I  wos  'im.  Parzon  Arbroath  got 
famous  that  way !  "  And  she  chuckled.  "  But  the  great 
pint  is  that  you  an'  'e  is  a-goin'  to  be  man  an'  wife,  an'  I'm 
right  glad  to  'ear  it,  for  it's  a  lonely  life  ye've  been  leadin' 
since  yer  father's  death,  forbye  ye've  got  a  bit  o'  company 
in  old  David.  An'  wot'll  ye  do  with  David  when  you're 
married?  " 

"  He'll  stay  on  with  us,  I  hope,"  said  Mary.  "  But  this 
morning  he  has  gone  away — and  we  don't  know  where  he 
can  have  gone  to." 

Mrs.  Twitt  raised  her  eyes  and  hands  in  astonishment. 

"  Gone  away  ?  " 

"  Yes."  And  Mary  showed  her  the  letter  Helmsley  had 
written,  and  explained  how  Angus  Reay  had  started  off  to 
walk  towards  Minehead,  in  the  hope  of  overtaking  the 
wanderer. 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  And  Mrs.  Twitt  gave  a  short  gasp 
of  wonder.  "  Wants  to  find  employment,  do  'e?  The  poor 
old  innercent!  Why,  Twitt  would  'a  given  'im  a  job  in 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   S49 

the  stoneyard  if  Vd  'a  known.  He'll  never  find  a  thing  to 
do  anywheres  on  the  road  at  'is  age !  " 

And  the  news  of  David's  sudden  and  lonely  departure 
affected  her  more  powerfully  than  the  prospect  of  Mary's 
marriage,  which  had,  in  the  first  place,  occupied  all  her 
mental  faculties. 

"  An'  that  reminds  me,"  she  went  on,  "  of  'ow  the  warnin' 
came  to  me  yesterday  when  I  was  a-goin'  out  to  my  wash- 
tub  an'  I  slipt  on  a  bit  o'  potato  peelin'.  That's  allus  a  sign 
of  a  partin'  'twixt  friends.  Put  that  together  with  the  lump 
o'  clinkers  as  flew  out  o'  the  fire  last  week  and  split  in  two 
in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen,  an'  there  ye  'ave  it  all  writ  plain. 
I  sez  to  Twitt — '  Suthin's  goin'  to  'appen ' — an'  'e  sez  in  'is 
fool  way — '  G'arn,  old  woman,  suthin's  allus  a-'appenin' 
somewheres ' — then  when  Mister  Reay  looked  in  all  smiles 
an'  sez  '  Good-mornin',  Twitt !  I'm  goin'  to  marry  Miss 
Mary  Deane!  Wish  us  joy! '  Twitt,  'e  up  an'  sez,  '  There's 
your  suthin',  old  gel !  A  marriage ! '  an'  I  sez,  '  Not  at  all, 
Twitt — not  at  all,  Mister  Reay,  if  I  may  make  so  bold,  but 
slippin'  on  peel  don't  mean  marriage,  nor  yet  clinkers, 
though  two  spoons  in  a  saucer  does  convey  'ints  o'  the  same, 
an'  two  spoons  was  in  Twitt's  saucer  only  this  very  mornin'. 
Which  I  wishes  both  man  an'  woman  as  runs  the  risk  ever- 
lastin'  joy ! '  An'  Twitt,  as  is  allus  puttin'  in  'is  word  where 
'taint  wanted,  sez,  '  Don't  talk  about  everlastin'  joy,  mother, 
'tis  like  a  hepitaph  ' — which  I  answers  quick  an'  sez,  '  Your 
mind  may  run  on  hepitaphs,  Twitt,  seein'  'tis  your  livin',  but 
mine  don't  do  no  such  thing,  an'  when  I  sez  everlastin'  joy 
for  man  an'  wife,  I  means  it.'  An'  then  Mister  Reay  conies 
an'  pats  me  on  the  shoulder  cosy  like  an'  sez,  '  Right  you 
are,  Mrs.  Twitt ! '  an'  'e  walks  off  laughin',  an'  Twitt  'e 
laughs  too  an'  sez,  '  Good  luck  to  the  bridegroom  an'  the 
bride,'  which  I  aint  denyin',  but  there  was  still  the  thought 
o'  the  potato  peel  an'  the  clinker,  an'  it's  come  clear  to-day 
now  I've  'eerd  as  'ow  poor  old  David's  gone !  "  She  paused 
to  take  breath,  and  shook  her  head  solemnly.  "  It's  my 
opinion  'e'll  never  come  back  no  more !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that ! "  exclaimed  Mary,  distressed. 
"  Don't  even  think  it !  " 

But  Mrs.  Twitt  was  not  to  be  shaken  in  her  pronounce- 
ment. 

'  'E'll  never  come  back  no  more !  "  she  said.  "  An'  the 
children  on  the  shore  'ull  miss  'im  badly,  for  'e  was  a  reg'lar 


350      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Father  Christmas  to  'em,  not  givin'  presents  by  any  manner 
o'  means,  'avin'  none  to  give,  but  tellin'  'em  stories  as  kep' 
'em  quiet  an'  out  of  'arms  way  for  'ours, — an'  mendin'  their 
toys  an'  throwin'  their  balls  an'  spinnin'  their  tops  like  the 
'armless  old  soul  'e  was !  I'm  right  sorry  'e's  gone !  Weir- 
combe  '11  miss  'im  for  sartin  sure !  " 

And  this  was  the  general  feeling  of  the  whole  village  when 
the  unexpected  departure  of  "  old  David  "  became  known. 
Angus  Reay,  returning  in  the  afternoon,  reported  that  he 
had  walked  half  the  way,  and  had  driven  the  other  half  with 
a  man  who  had  given  him  a  lift  in  his  trap,  right  into  Mine- 
head,  but  had  seen  and  heard  nothing  of  the  missing  waif 
and  stray.  Coming  back  to  Weircombe  with  the  carrier's 
cart,  he  had  questioned  the  carrier  as  to  whether  he  had  seen 
the  old  man  anywhere  along  the  road,  but  this  inquiry  like- 
wise met  with  failure. 

"  So  the  only  thing  to  do,  Mary,"  said  Angus,  finally,  "  is 
to  believe  his  own  written  word, — that  he  will  be  back  with 
us  before  Sunday.  I  don't  think  he  meani  to  leave  you  alto- 
gether in  such  an  abrupt  way, — that  would  be  churlish  and 
ungrateful — and  I'm  sure  he  is  neither." 

"  Oh,  he's  anything  but  churlish !  "  she  answered  quickly. 
"  He  has  always  been  most  thoughtful  and  kind  to  me ;  and 
as  for  gratitude ! — why,  the  poor  old  dear  makes  too  much 
of  it  altogether — one  would  think  I  had  given  him  a  fortune 
instead  of  just  taking  common  human  care  of  him.  I  ex- 
pect he  must  have  worked  in  some  very  superior  house  of 
business,  for  though  he's  so  poor,  he  has  all  the  ways  of  a 
gentleman." 

"  What  are  the  ways  of  a  gentleman,  my  Mary  ? "  de- 
manded Angus,  gaily.  "  Do  you  know  ?  I  mean,  do  you 
know  what  they  are  nowadays?  To  stick  a  cigar  in  one's 
mouth  and  smoke  it  all  the  time  a  woman  is  present — to  keep 
one's  hat  on  before  her,  and  to  talk  to  her  in  such  a  loose, 
free  and  easy  fashion  as  might  bring  one's  grandmother  out 
of  her  grave  and  make  her  venerable  hair  curl !  Those  are 
the  '  ways  '  of  certain  present-time  '  gentlemen '  who  keep 
all  the  restaurants  and  music-halls  of  London  going — and 
I  don't  rank  good  old  David  with  these.  I  know  what  you 
mean — you  mean  that  he  has  all  the  fine  feeling,  delicacy  and 
courtesy  of  a  gentleman,  as  '  gentlemen '  used  to  be  before 
our  press  was  degraded  to  its  present  level  by  certain  clowns 
and  jesters  who  make  it  their  business  to  jeer  at  every  "  gen- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   351 

tlemanly  '  feeling  that  ever  inspired  humanity — yes,  I  under- 
stand !  He  is  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school, — well, — I  think 
he  is — and  I  think  he  would  always  be  that,  if  he  tramped 
the  road  till  he  died.  He  must  have  seen  better  days." 

"  Oh  yes,  I'm  sure  of  that !  "  said  Mary.  "  So  many 
really  capable  men  get  turned  out  of  work  because  they 
are  old " 

"  Well,  there's  one  advantage  about  my  profession,"  in- 
terrupted Angus.  "  No  one  can  turn  me  out  of  literature 
either  for  young  or  old  age,  if  I  choose  to  make  a  name  in  it ! 
Think  of  that,  my  Mary !  The  glorious  independence  of 
it!  An  author  is  a  law  unto  himself,  and  if  he  succeeds,  he 
is  the  master  of  his  own  fate.  Publishers  are  his  humble 
servants — waiting  eagerly  to  snatch  up  his  work  that  they 
may  get  all  they  can  for  themselves  out  of  it, — and  the 
public — the  great  public  which,  apart  from  all  *  interested ' 
critical  bias,  delivers  its  own  verdict,  is  always  ready  to 
hearken  and  to  applaud  the  writer  of  its  choice.  There  is 
no  more  splendid  and  enviable  life ! — if  I  could  only  make  a 
hundred  pounds  a  year  by  it,  I  would  rather  be  an  author 
than  a  king !  For  if  one  has  something  in  one's  soul  to  say 
— something  that  is  vital,  true,  and  human  as  well  as  divine, 
the  whole  world  will  pause  to  listen.  Yes,  Mary !  In  all  its 
toil  and  stress,  its  scheming  for  self-advantage,  its  political 
changes,  its  little  temporary  passing  shows  of  empires  and 
monarchies,  the  world  will  stop  to  hear  what  the  Thinker 
and  the  Writer  tells  it !  The  words  of  old  Socrates  still  ring 
down  the  ages — the  thoughts  of  Shakespeare  are  still  the 
basis  of  English  literature! — what  a  grand  life  it  is  to  be 
among  the  least  of  one  of  the  writing  band!  I  tell  you, 
Mary,  that  even  if  I  fail,  I  shall  be  proud  to  have  at  any  rate 
tried  to  succeed  !  " 

"  You  will  not  fail !  "  she  said,  her  eyes  glowing  with 
enthusiasm.  "  I  shall  see  you  win  your  triumph  !  " 

"  Well,  if  I  cannot  conquer  everything  with  you  by  my 
side,  I  shall  be  but  a  poor  and  worthless  devil !  "  he  an- 
swered. "  And  now  I  must  be  off  and  endeavour  to  make 
up  for  my  lost  time  this  morning,  running  after  David ! 
Poor  old  chap!  Don't  worry  about  him,  Mary.  I  think 
you  may  take  his  word  for  it  that  he  means  to  be  back  before 
Sunday." 

He  left  her  then,  and  all  the  day  and  all  the  evening  too 
she  spent  the  time  alone.  It  would  have  been  impossible  to 


352      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

her  to  express  in  words  how  greatly  she  missed  the  compan- 
ionship of  the  gentle  old  man  who  had  so  long  been  the 
object  of  her  care.  There  was  a  sense  of  desolate  emptiness 
in  the  little  cottage  such  as  had  not  so  deeply  affected  her 
for  years — not  indeed  since  the  first  months  following  imme- 
diately on  her  own  father's  death.  That  Angus  Reay  kept 
away  was,  she  knew,  care  for  her  on  his  part.  Solitary 
woman  as  she  was,  the  villagers,  like  all  people  who  live  in 
very  small,  mentally  restricted  country  places,  would  have 
idly  gossiped  away  her  reputation  had  she  received  her  lover 
into  her  house  alone.  So  she  passed  a  very  dismal  time  all 
by  herself ;  and  closing  up  the  house  early,  took  little  Charlie 
in  her  arms  and  went  to  bed,  where,  much  to  her  own  abash- 
ment, she  cried  herself  to  sleep. 

Meanwhile,  David  himself,  for  whom  she  fretted,  had  ar- 
rived in  Exeter.  The  journey  had  fatigued  him  consider- 
ably, though  he  had  been  able  to  get  fairly  good  food  and 
a  glass  of  wine  at  one  of  the  junctions  where  he  had  changed 
en  route.  On  leaving  the  Exeter  railway  station,  he  made 
his  way  towards  the  Cathedral,  and  happening  to  chance  on 
a  very  small  and  unpretending  "  Temperance  Hotel "  in  a 
side  street,  where  a  placard  intimating  that  "  Good  Accom- 
modation for  Travellers  "  might  be  had  within,  he  entered 
and  asked  for  a  bedroom.  He  obtained  it  at  once,  for  his 
appearance  was  by  no  means  against  him,  being  that  of  a 
respectable  old  working  man  who  was  prepared  to  pay  his 
way  in  a  humble,  but  perfectly  honest  fashion.  As  soon  as 
he  had  secured  his  room,  which  was  a  curious  little  three- 
cornered  apartment,  partially  obscured  by  the  shadows  of 
the  many  buttresses  of  the  Cathedral,  his  next  care  was  to 
go  out  into  the  High  Street  and  provide  himself  with  a  good 
stock  of  writing  materials.  These  obtained,  he  returned  to 
his  temporary  lodging,  where,  after  supper,  he  went  to  bed 
early  in  order  to  rise  early.  With  the  morning  light  he  was 
up  and  dressed,  eager  to  be  at  work, — an  inrush  of  his  old 
business  energy  came  back  on  him, — his  brain  was  clear,  his 
mental  force  keen  and  active.  There  happened  to  be  an 
old-fashioned  oak  table  in  his  room,  and  drawing  this  to 
the  window,  he  sat  down  to  write  the  document  which  his 
solicitor  and  friend,  Sir  Francis  Vesey,  had  so  often  urged 
him  to  prepare — his  Will.  He  knew  what  a  number  of  legal 
technicalities  might,  or  could  be  involved  in  this  business, 
and  was  therefore  careful  to  make  it  as  short,  clear,  and 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   353 

concise  as  possible,  leaving  no  chance  anywhere  open  of 
doubt  or  discussion.  And  with  a  firm,  unwavering  pen,  in 
his  own  particularly  distinct  and  characteristic  caligraphy, 
he  disposed  of  everything  of  which  he  died  possessed  "  ab- 
solutely and  without  any  conditions  whatsoever  "  to  Mary 
Deane,  spinster,  at  present  residing  in  Weircombe,  Somer- 
set, adding  the  hope  that  she  would,  if  she  saw  fit  to  do  so, 
carry  out  certain  requests  of  his,  the  testator's,  as  conveyed 
privately  to  her  in  a  letter  accompanying  the  Will.  All  the 
morning  long  he  sat  thoughtfully  considering  and  weighing 
each  word  he  used — till  at  last,  when  the  document  was 
finished  to  his  satisfaction,  he  folded  it  up,  and  putting  it  in 
his  pocket,  started  out  to  get  his  midday  meal  and  find  a 
lawyer's  office.  He  was  somewhat  surprised  at  his  own 
alertness  and  vigour  as  he  walked  through  the  streets  of 
Exeter  on  this  quest ; — excitement  buoyed  him  up  to  such  a 
degree  that  he  was  not  conscious  of  the  slightest  fatigue  or 
lassitude — he  felt  almost  young.  He  took  his  lunch  at  a 
small  restaurant  where  he  saw  city  clerks  and  others  of  that 
type  going  in,  and  afterwards,  strolling  up  a  dull  little  street 
which  ended  in  a  cul  de  sac,  he  spied  a  dingy  archway,  offer- 
ing itself  as  an  approach  to  a  flight  of  equally  dingy  stairs. 
Here  a  brass  plate,  winking  at  the  passer-by,  stated  that 
"  Rowden  and  Owlett,  Solicitors,"  would  be  found  on  the 
first  floor.  Helmsley  paused,  considering  a  moment — then, 
making  up  his  mind  that  "  Rowden  and  Owlett  "  would  suit 
his  purpose  as  well  as  any  other  equally  unknown  firm,  he 
slowly  climbed  the  steep  and  unwashed  stair.  Opening  the 
first  door  at  the  top  of  the  flight,  he  saw  a  small  boy  leaning 
both  arms  across  a  large  desk,  and  watching  the  gyrations 
of  two  white  mice  in  a  revolving  cage. 

"  Hullo !  "  said  the  boy  sharply,  "  what  d'  ye  want  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Rowden  or  Mr.  Owlett,"  he  replied. 

"  Right  y'  are !  "  and  the  boy  promptly  seized  the  cage 
containing  the  white  mice  and  hid  it  in  a  cupboard. 
"  You're  our  first  caller  to-day.  Mr.  Rowden's  gone  to 
Dawlish, — but  Mr.  Owlett's  in.  Wait  a  minute." 

Helmsley  obeyed,  sitting  down  in  a  chair  near  the  door, 
and  smiling  to  himself  at  the  evidences  of  slack  business 
which  the  offices  of  Messrs.  Rowden  and  Owlett  presented. 
In  about  five  minutes  the  boy  returned,  and  gave  him  a 
confidential  nod. 

"  You  can  go  in  now,"  he  said ;  "  Mr.  Owlett  was  taking 


354,      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

his  after-dinner  snooze,  but  he's  jumped  up  at  once,  and  he's 
washed  his  hands  and  face,  so  he's  quite  ready  for  business. 
This  way,  please !  " 

He  beckoned  with  a  rather  dirty  finger,  and  Helmsley 
followed  him  into  a  small  apartment  where  Mr.  Owlett,  a 
comfortably  stout,  middle-aged  gentleman,  sat  at  a  large 
bureau  covered  with  papers,  pretending  to  read.  He  looked 
up  as  his  hoped-for  client  entered,  and  flushed  redly  in  the 
face  with  suppressed  vexation  as  he  saw  that  it  was  only  a 
working  man  after  all — "  Some  fellow  wanting  a  debt  col- 
lected," he  decided,  pushing  away  his  papers  with  a  rather 
irritated  movement.  However,  in  times  when  legal  work 
was  so  scarce,  it  did  not  serve  any  good  purpose  to  show 
anger,  so,  smoothing  his  ruffled  brow,  he  forced  a  reluctantly 
condescending  smile,  as  his  office-boy,  having  ushered  in  the 
visitor,  left  the  room. 

"  Good  afternoon,  my  man !  "  he  said,  with  a  patronising 
air.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  so  very  much,  sir,"  and  Helmsley  took  off  his 
hat  deferentially,  standing  in  an  attitude  of  humility.  "  It's 
only  a  matter  of  making  my  Will, — I've  written  it  out  my- 
self, and  if  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  see  whether  it  is  all 
in  order,  I'm  prepared  to  pay  you  for  your  trouble." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly !  "  Here  Mr.  Owlett  took  off, 
his  spectacles  and  polished  them.  "  I  suppose  you  know  it's 
not  always  a  wise  thing  to  draw  up  your  own  Will  yourself  ? 
You  should  always  let  a  lawyer  draw  it  up  for  you." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I've  heard  that,"  answered  Helmsley,  with  an 
air  of  respectful  attention — "  And  that's  why  I've  brought 
the  paper  to  you,  for  if  there's  anything  wrong  with  it,  you 
can  put  it  right,  or  draw  it  up  again  if  you  think  proper. 
Only  I'd  rather  not  be  put  to  more  expense  than  I  can  help." 

"  Just  so !  "  And  the  worthy  solicitor  sighed,  as  he  real- 
ised that  there  were  no  "  pickings  "  to  be  made  out  of  his 
present  visitor — "  Have  you  brought  the  document  with 


you 


"  Yes,  sir !  "  Helmsley  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  and  drew 
out  the  paper  with  a  well-assumed  air  of  hesitation ;  "  I'm 
leaving  everything  I've  got  to  a  woman  who  has  been  like  a 
daughter  to  me  in  my  old  age — my  wife  and  children  are 
dead — and  I've  no  one  that  has  any  blood  claim  on  me — so 
I  think  the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  give  everything  I've  got 
to  the  one  that's  been  kind  to  me  in  my  need." 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   355 

"  Very  right — very  proper !  "  murmured  Mr.  Owlett,  as 
he  took  the  offered  document  from  Helmsley's  hand  and 

opened  it — "  Um — um ! — let  me  see ! "  Here  he 

read  aloud — "  I,  David  Helmsley, — um — um ! — Helmsley — 
Helmsley ! — that's  a  name  that  I  seem  to  have  heard  some- 
where ! — David  Helmsley  ! — yes ! — why  that's  the  name  of  a 
multi-millionaire ! — ha-ha-ha  !  A  multi-millionaire !  That's 
curious!  Do  you  know,  my  man,  that  your  name  is  the 
same  as  that  of  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  world  ?  " 

Helmsley  permitted  himself  to  smile. 

"  Really,  sir  ?    You  don't  say  so !  " 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  And  Mr.  Owlett  fixed  his  spectacles  on 
his  nose  and  beamed  at  his  humble  client  through  them  con- 
descendingly— "  One  of  the  richest  men  in  the  world !  " 
And  he  smacked  his  lips  as  though  he  had  just  swallowed  a 
savoury  morsel — "Amazing!  Now  if  you  were  he,  your 
Will  would  be  a  world's  affair — a  positively  world's  affair !  " 

"  Would  it  indeed  ?  "     And  again  Helmsley  smiled. 

"  Everybody  would  talk  of  it,"  proceeded  Owlett,  lost  in 
rapturous  musing — "  The  disposal  of  a  rich  man's  millions 
is  always  a  most  interesting  subject  of  conversation !  And 
you  actually  didn't  know  you  had  such  a  rich  namesake  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  did  not." 

"  Ah  well !  I  suppose  you  live  in  the  country,  and  people 
in  the  country  seldom  hear  of  the  names  that  are  famous  in 
towns.  Now  let  me  consider  this  Will  again — '  I,  David 
Helmsley,  being  in  sound  health  of  mind  and  body,  thanks 
be  to  God,  do  make  this  to  be  my  Last  Will  and  Testament, 
revoking  all  former  Wills,  Codicils  and  Testamentary  Dis- 
positions. First  I  commend  my  soul  into  the  hands  of  God 
my  Creator,  hoping  and  believing,  through  the  merits  of 
Jesus  Christ  my  Saviour,  to  be  made  partaker  of  life  ever- 
lasting ' — Dear  me,  dear  me !  "  and  Mr.  Owlett  took  off  his 
spectacles.  "  You  must  be  a  very  old-fashioned  man !  This 
sort  of  thing  is  not  at  all  necessary  nowadays !  " 

"  Not  necessary,  perhaps,"  said  Helmsley  gently — "  But 
there  is  no  harm  in  putting  it  in,  sir,  I  hope?  " 

"  Oh,  there's  no  harm !  It  doesn't  affect  the  Will  itself, 
of  course, — but — but — it's  odd — it's  unusual !  You  see  no- 
body minds  what  becomes  of  your  Soul,  or  your  Body  either 
— the  only  question  of  importance  to  any  one  is  what  is  to 
be  done  with  your  Money !  " 

"  I  see !  "     And  Helmsley  nodded  his  head  and  spoke  with 


356      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

perfect  mildness — "  But  I'm  an  old  man,  and  I've  lived  long 
enough  to  be  fonder  of  old-fashioned  ways  than  new,  and  I 
should  like,  if  you  please,  to  let  it  be  known  that  I  died  a 
Christian,  which  is,  to  me,  not  a  member  of  any  particular 
church  or  chapel,  but  just  a  Christian — a  man  who  faith- 
fully believes  in  the  teaching  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

The  attorney  stared  at  him  astonished,  and  moved  by  a 
curious  sense  of  shame.  There  was  something  both  pathetic 
and  dignified  in  the  aspect  of  this  frail  old  "  working  man," 
who  stood  before  him  so  respectfully  with  his  venerable 
white  hair  uncovered,  and  his  eyes  full  of  an  earnest  resolu- 
tion which  was  not  to  be  gainsaid.  Coughing  a  cough  of 
nervous  embarrassment,  he  again  glanced  at  the  document 
before  him. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said — "  if  you  wish  it,  there  is  not  the 
slightest  objection  to  your  making  this — this  public  state- 
ment as  to  your  religious  convictions.  It  does  not  affect 
the  disposal  of  your  worldly  goods  in  any  way.  It  used — 
yes,  it  used  to  be  quite  the  ordinary  way  of  beginning  a 
Last  Will  and  Testament — but  we  have  got  beyond  any 
special  commendation  of  our  souls  to  God,  you  know " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  quite  understand  that,"  rejoined  Helmsley. 
"  Present-day  people  like  to  think  that  God  takes  no  interest 
whatever  in  His  own  creation.  It's  a  more  comfortable  doc- 
trine to  believe  that  He  is  indifferent  rather  than  observant. 
But,  so  far  as  I'm  concerned,  I  don't  go  with  the  time." 

"  No,  I  see  you  don't,  "  and  Mr.  Owlett  bent  his  attention 
anew  on  the  Will — "  And  the  religious  preliminary  being 
quite  unimportant,  you  shall  have  it  your  own  way.  Apart 
from  that,  you've  drawn  it  up  quite  correctly,  and  in  very 
good  form.  I  suppose  you  understand  that  you  have  in  this 
Will  left  '  everything '  to  the  named  legatee,  Mary  Deane, 
spinster,  that  is  to  say,  excluding  no  item  whatsoever  ?  That 
she  becomes  the  possessor,  in  fact,  of  your  whole  estate  ?  " 

Helmsley  bent  his  head  in  assent. 

"  That  is  what  I  wish,  sir,  and  I  hope  I  have  made  it 
clear." 

"  Yes,  you  have  made  it  quite  clear.  There  is  no  room  for 
discussion  on  any  point.  You  wish  us  to  witness  your 
signature  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  sir." 

And  he  advanced  to  the  bureau  ready  to  sign.  Mr. 
Owlett  rang  a  bell  sharply  twice.  An  angular  man  with  a 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   357 

youngish  face  and  a  very  elderly  manner  answered  the 
summons. 

"  My  confidential  clerk,"  said  Owlett,  briefly  introducing 
him.  "  Here,  Prindle !  I  want  you  to  be  witness  with  me 
to  this  gentleman's  Will." 

Prindle  bowed,  and  passed  his  hand  across  his  mouth  to 
hide  a  smile.  Prindle  was  secretly  amused  to  think  that  a 
working  man  had  anything  to  leave  worth  the  trouble  of 
making  a  Will  at  all.  Mr.  Owlett  dipped  a  pen  in  ink,  and 
handed  it  to  his  client.  Whereat,  Helmsley  wrote  his  signa- 
ture in  a  clear,  bold,  unfaltering  hand.  Mr.  Owlett  ap- 
pended his  own  name,  and  then  Prindle  stepped  up  to  sign. 
As  he  saw  the  signature  "  David  Helmsley,"  he  paused  and 
seemed  astonished.  Mr.  Owlett  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  We  know  that  name,  don't  we,  Prindle?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  should  say  all  the  world  knew  it ! "  replied 
Prindle. 

"  All  the  world — yes ! — all  except  our  friend  here,"  said 
Owlett,  nodding  towards  Helmsley.  "  You  didn't  know,  my 
man,  did  you,  that  there  was  a  multi-millionaire  existing  of 
the  same  name  as  yourself  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  did  not !  "  answered  Helmsley.  "  I  hope  he's 
made  his  Will !  " 

"  I  hope  he  has !  "  laughed  the  attorney.  "  There'll  be  a 
big  haul  for  the  Crown  if  he  hasn't !  " 

Prindle,  meanwhile,  was  slowly  writing  "  James  George 
Prindle,  Clerk  to  the  aforesaid  Robert  Owlett "  underneath 
his  legal  employer's  signature. 

"  I  should  suggest,"  said  Mr.  Owlett,  addressing  David, 
jocosely,  "  that  you  go  and  make  yourself  known  to  the  rich 
Mr.  Helmsley  as  a  namesake  of  his !  " 

"  Would  you,  sir  ?     And  why  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  might  be  interested.  Men  as  rich  as  he  is 
always  want  a  new  '  sensation  '  to  amuse  them.  And  he 
might,  for  all  you  know,  make  you  a  handsome  present,  or 
leave  you  a  little  legacy !  " 

Helmsley  smiled — he  very  nearly  laughed.  But  he  care- 
fully guarded  his  equanimity. 

"  Thank  you  for  the  hint,  sir !  I'll  try  and  see  him  some 
day!" 

"  I  hear  he's  dead,"  said  Prindle,  finishing  the  signing  of 
his  name  and  laying  down  his  pen.  "  It  was  in  the  papers 
some  time  back." 


358      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  But  it  was  contradicted,"  said  Owlett  quickly. 

"  Ah,  but  I  think  it  was  true  all  the  same,"  and  Prindle 
shook  his  head  obstinately.  "  The  papers  ought  to  know." 

"  Oh  yes,  they  ought  to  know,  but  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten 
they  don't  know,"  declared  Owlett.  "  And  if  you  contradict 
their  lies,  they're  so  savage  at  being  put  in  the  wrong  that 
they'll  blazon  the  lies  all  the  more  rather  than  confess  them. 
That  will  do,  Prindle !  You  can  go." 

Prindle,  aware  that  his  employer  was  not  a  man  to  be 
argued  with,  at  once  retired,  and  Owlett,  folding  up  the 
Will,  handed  it  to  Helmsley. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  you  want  to  take 
it  with  you  ?  You  can  leave  it  with  us  if  you  like." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I'd  rather  have  it  about  me,"  Helmsley 
answered.  "  You  see  I'm  old  and  not  very  strong,  and  I 
might  die  at  any  time.  I'd  like  to  keep  my  Will  on  my  own 
person." 

"  Well,  take  care  of  it,  that's  all,"  said  the  solicitor,  smil- 
ing at  what  he  thought  his  client's  rustic  naivete.  "  No 
matter  how  little  you've  got  to  leave,  it's  just  as  well  it 
should  go  where  you  want  it  to  go  without  trouble  or  dif- 
ficulty. And  there's  generally  a  quarrel  over  every  Will." 

"  I  hope  there's  no  chance  of  any  quarrel  over  mine,"  said 
Helmsley,  with  a  touch  of  anxiety. 

"  Oh  no !  Not  the  least  in  the  world !  Even  if  you  were 
as  great  a  millionaire  as  the  man  who  happens  to  bear  the 
same  name  as  yourself,  the  Will  would  hold  good." 

"  Thank  you ! "  And  Helmsley  placed  on  the  lawyer's 
desk  more  than  his  rightful  fee,  which  that  respectable  per- 
sonage accepted  without  any  hesitation.  "  I'm  very  much 
obliged  to  you.  Good  afternoon !  " 

"  Good  afternoon !  "  And  Mr.  Owlett  leaned  back  in  his 
;chair,  blandly  surveying  his  visitor.  "  I  suppose  you  quite 
understand  that,  having  made  your  legatee,  Mary  Deane, 
your  sole  executrix  likewise,  you  give  her  absolute  control  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  quite  understand  that ! "  answered  Helmsley. 
"  That  is  what  I  wish  her  to  have — the  free  and  absolute 
control  of  all  I  die  possessed  of." 

"  Then  you  may  be  quite  easy  in  your  mind,"  said  the 
lawyer.  "  You  have  made  that  perfectly  clear." 

Whereat  Helmsley  again  said  "  Good  afternoon,"  and 
again  Mr.  Owlett  briefly  responded,  sweeping  the  money 
his  client  had  paid  him  off  his  desk,  and  pocketing  the  same 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   359 

with  that  resigned  air  of  injured  virtue  which  was  his  natu- 
ral expression  whenever  he  thought  of  how  little  good  hard 
cash  a  country  solicitor  could  make  in  the  space  of  twenty- 
four  hours.  Helmsley,  on  leaving  the  office,  returned  at 
once  to  his  lodging  under  the  shadow  of  the  Cathedral  and 
resumed  his  own  work,  which  was  that  of  writing  severel  let- 
ters to  various  persons  connected  with  his  financial  affairs, 
showing  to  each  and  all  what  a  grip  he  held,  even  in  absence, 
on  the  various  turns  of  the  wheel  of  fortune,  and  dating  all 
his  communications  from  Exeter,  "  at  which  interesting  old 
town  I  am  making  a  brief  stay,"  he  wrote,  for  the  satisfac- 
tion of  such  curiosity  as  his  correspondents  might  evince, 
as  well  as  for  the  silencing  of  all  rumours  respecting  his  sup- 
posed death.  Last  of  all  he  wrote  to  Sir  Francis  Vesey,  as 
follows : — 

"  MY  DEAR  VESEY, — On  this  day,  in  the  good  old  city  of 
Exeter,  I  have  done  what  you  so  often  have  asked  me  to  do. 
I  have  made  my  Will.  It  is  drawn  up  entirely  in  my  own 
handwriting,  and  has  been  duly  declared  correct  and  valid 
by  a  legal  firm  here,  Messrs.  Rowden  and  Owlett.  Mr. 
Owlett  and  Mr.  Owlett's  clerk  were  good  enough  to  witness 
my  signature.  I  wish  you  to  consider  this  communication 
made  to  you  in  the  most  absolute  confidence,  and  as  I  carry 
the  said  document,  namely  my  '  Last  Will  and  Testament/ 
upon  my  person,  it  will  not  reach  your  hands  till  I  am  no 
more.  Then  I  trust  you  will  see  the  business  through  with- 
out unnecessary  trouble  or  worry  to  the  person  who,  by  my 
desire,  will  inherit  all  I  have  to  leave. 

"  I  have  spent  nearly  a  year  of  almost  perfect  happiness 
away  from  London  and  all  the  haunts  of  London  men,  and 
I  have  found  what  I  sought,  but  what  you  probably  doubted 
I  could  ever  find — Love !  The  treasures  of  earth  I  possess 
and  have  seldom  enjoyed — but  the  treasure  of  Heaven, — 
that  pure,  disinterested,  tender  affection,  which  bears  the 
stress  of  poverty,  sickness,  and  all  other  kindred  ills, — I 
never  had  till  now.  And  now  the  restless  craving  of  my 
soul  is  pacified.  I  am  happy, — moreover,  I  am  perfectly  at 
ease  as  regards  the  disposal  of  my  wealth  when  I  am  gone. 
I  know  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  this,  and  that  you  will  see 
that  my  last  wishes  and  instructions  are  faithfully  carried 
out  in  every  respect — that  is,  if  I  should  die  before  I  see  you 
again,  which  I  hope  may  not  be  the  case. 


360      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  It  is  my  present  intention  to  return  to  London  shortly, 
and  tell  you  personally  the  story  of  such  adventures  as  have 
chanced  to  me  since  I  left  Carlton  House  Terrace  last  July, 
but  '  man  proposes,  and  God  disposes,'  and  one  can  be  cer- 
tain of  nothing.  I  need  not  ask  you  to  keep  all  my  affairs 
going  as  if  I  myself  were  on  the  scene  of  action,  and  also  to 
inform  the  servants  of  my  household  to  prepare  for  my 
return,  as  I  may  be  back  in  town  any  day.  I  must  thank 
you  for  your  prompt  and  businesslike  denial  of  the  report 
of  my  death,  which  I  understand  has  been  circulated  by  the 
press.  I  am  well — as  well  as  a  man  of  my  age  can  expect 
to  be,  save  for  a  troublesome  heart-weakness,  which  threat- 
ens a  brief  and  easy  ending  to  my  career.  But  for  this,  I 
should  esteem  myself  stronger  than  some  men  who  are  still 
young.  And  one  of  the  strongest  feelings  in  me  at  the 
present  moment  (apart  altogether  from  the  deep  affection 
and  devout  gratitude  I  have  towards  the  one  who  under  my 
Will  is  to  inherit  all  I  have  spent  my  life  to  gain)  is  my 
friendship  for  you,  my  dear  Vesey, — a  friendship  cemented 
by  the  experience  of  years,  and  which  I  trust  may  always  be 
unbroken,  even  remaining  in  your  mind  as  an  unspoilt 
memory  after  I  am  gone  where  all  who  are  weary,  long, 
yet  fear  to  go!  Nevertheless,  my  faith  is  firm  that  the 
seeming  darkness  of  death  will  prove  but  the  veil  which 
hides  the  light  of  a  more  perfect  life,  and  I  have  learned, 
through  the  purity  of  a  great  and  unselfish  human  love,  to 
believe  in  the  truth  of  the  Love  Divine. — Your  friend 
always,  DAVID  HELMSLEY." 

This  letter  finished,  he  went  out  and  posted  it  with  all  the 
others  he  had  written,  and  then  passed  the  evening  in  listen- 
ing to  the  organist  practising  grave  anthems  and  voluntaries 
in  the  Cathedral.  Every  little  item  he  could  think  of  in  his 
business  affairs  was  carefully  gone  over  during  the  three 
days  he  spent  in  Exeter, — nothing  was  left  undone  that 
could  be  so  arranged  as  to  leave  his  worldly  concerns  in  per- 
fect and  unquestionable  order — and  when,  as  "  Mr.  David," 
he  paid  his  last  daily  score  at  the  little  Temperance  hotel 
where  he  had  stayed  since  the  Tuesday  night,  and  started  by 
the  early  train  of  Saturday  morning  on  his  return  to  Mine- 
head,  he  was  at  peace  with  himself  and  all  men.  True  it 
was  that  the  making  of  his  will  had  brought  home  to  him 
the  fact  that  it  was  not  the  same  thing  as  when,  being  in  the 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   361 

prime  of  life,  he  had  made  it  in  favour  of  his  two  sons,  who 
were  now  dead, — it  was  really  and  truly  a  final  winding-up 
of  his  temporal  interests,  and  an  admitted  approach  to  the 
verge  of  the  Eternal, — but  he  was  not  depressed  by  this 
consciousness.  On  the  contrary,  a  happy  sense  of  perfect 
calm  pervaded  his  whole  being,  and  as  the  train  bore  him 
swiftly  through  the  quiet,  lovely  land  back  to  Minehead,  that 
sea-washed  portal  to  the  little  village  paradise  which  held 
the  good  angel  of  his  life,  he  silently  thanked  God  that  he 
had  done  the  work  which  he  had  started  out  to  do,  and  that 
he  had  been  spared  to  return  and  look  again  into  the  be- 
loved face  of  the  one  woman  in  all  the  world  who  had  given 
him  a  true  affection  without  any  "  motive,"  or  hope  of  re- 
ward. And  he  murmured  again  his  favourite  lines: — 

"  Let  the  sweet  heavens  endure, 

Not  close  nor  darken  above  me, 
Before  I  am  quite,  quite  sure 

That  there  is  one  to  love  me ! 
Then  let  come  what  come  may, 

To  a  life  that  has  been  so  sad, 
I  shall  have  had  my  day ! " 

"  That  is  true !  "  he  said — "  And  being  '  quite,  quite  sure  * 
beyond  all  doubt,  that  I  have  found  '  one  to  love  me  '  whose 
love  is  of  the  truest,  holiest  and  purest,  what  more  can  I  ask 
of  Divine  goodness !  " 

And  his  face  was  full  of  the  light  of  a  heart's  content  and 
peace,  as  the  dimpled  hill  coast  of  Somerset  came  into  view, 
and  the  warm  spring  sunshine  danced  upon  the  sea. 


CHAPTER     XXI 

ARRIVING  at  Minehead,  Helmsley  passed  out  of  the  station 
unnoticed  by  any  one,  and  made  his  way  easily  through  the 
sunny  little  town.  He  was  soon  able  to  secure  a  ."  lift " 
towards  Weircombe  in  a  baker's  cart  going  half  the  way ; ' 
the  rest  of  the  distance  he  judged  he  could  very  well  manage 
to  walk,  albeit  slowly.  A  fluttering  sense  of  happiness,  like 
the  scarcely  suppressed  excitement  of  a  boy  going  home 
from  school  for  the  holidays,  made  him  feel  almost  agile  on 
his  feet, — if  he  had  only  had  a  trifle  more  strength  he 
thought  he  could  have  run  the  length  of  every  mile  stretch- 
ing between  him  and  the  dear  cottage  in  the  coombe,  which 
had  now  become  the  central  interest  of  his  life.  The  air 
was  so  pure,  the  sun  so  bright — the  spring  foliage  was  so 
fresh  and  green,  the  birds  sang  so  joyously — all  nature 
seemed  to  be  in  such  perfect  tune  with  the  deep  ease  and 
satisfaction  of  his  own  soul,  that  every  breath  he  took  was 
more  or  less  of  a  thanksgiving  to  God  for  having  been 
spared  to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  such  halcyon  hours.  By  the 
willing  away  of  all  his  millions  to  one  whom  he  knew  to 
be  of  a  pure,  noble,  and  incorruptible  nature,  a  great  load 
had  been  lifted  from  his  mind, — he  had  done  with  world's 
work  ior  ever ;  and  by  some  inexplicable  yet  divine  compen- 
sation it  seemed  as  though  the  true  meaning  of  the  life  to 
come  had  been  suddenly  disclosed  to  him,  and  that  he  was 
allowed  to  realise  for  the  first  time  not  only  the  possibility, 
but  the  certainty,  that  Death  is  not  an  End,  but  a  new  Be- 
ginning. And  he  felt  himself  to  be  a  free  man, — free  of  all 
earthly  confusion  and  worry — free  to  recommence  another 
cycle  of  nobler  work  in  a  higher  and  wider  sphere  of  action. 
And  he  argued  with  himself  thus : — 

"  A  man  is  born  into  this  world  without  his  own  knowl- 
edge or  consent.  Yet  he  finds  himself — also  without  his 
own  knowledge  or  consent — surrounded  by  natural  beauty 
and  perfect  order — he  finds  nothing  in  the  planet  which  can 
be  accounted  valueless — he  learns  that  even  a  grain  of  dust 
has  its  appointed  use,  and  that  not  a  sparrow  shall  fall  to  the 
ground  without  '  Our  Father.'  Everything  is  ready  to  his 
hand  to  minister  to  his  reasonable  wants — and  it  is  only 

362 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   363 

when  he  misinterprets  the  mystic  meaning  of  life,  and  puts 
God  aside  as  an  '  unknown  quantity/  that  things  go  wrong. 
His  mission  is  that  of  progress  and  advancement — but  not 
progress  and  advancement  in  base  material  needs  and  pleas- 
ures,— the  progress  and  advancement  required  of  him  is 
primarily  spiritual.  For  the  spiritual,  or  Mind,  is  the  only 
Real.  Matter  is  merely  the  husk  in  which  the  seed  of  Spirit 
is  enclosed — and  Man's  mistake  is  always  that  he  attaches 
himself  to  the  perishable  husk  instead  of  the  ever  germinat- 
ing seed.  He  advances,  but  advances  wrongly,  and  there- 
fore has  to  go  back  upon  his  steps.  He  progresses  in  what 
he  calls  civilisation,  which  so  long  as  it  is  purely  self-ag- 
grandisement, is  but  a  common  circle,  bringing  him  back 
in  due  course  to  primitive  savagery.  Now  I,  for  example, 
started  in  life  to  make  money — I  made  it,  and  it  brought 
me  power,  which  I  thought  progress;  but  now,  at  the  end 
of  my  tether,  I  see  plainly  that  I  have  done  no  good  in  my 
career  save  such  good  as  will  come  from  my  having  placed 
all  my  foolish  gainings  under  the  control  of  a  nature  simpler 
and  therefore  stronger  than  my  own.  And  I,  leaving  my 
dross  behind  me,  must  go  forward  and  begin  again — spiritu- 
ally the  wiser  for  my  experience  of  this  world,  which  may 
help  me  better  to  understand  the  next." 

Thus  he  mused,  as  he  slowly  trudged  along  under  the 
bright  and  burning  sun — happy  enough  in  his  thoughts 
except  that  now  and  then  a  curious  touch  of  foreboding  fear 
came  over  him  as  to  whether  anything  ill  had  happened  to 
Mary  in  his  absence. 

"  For  one  never  knows !  " — and  a  faint  shudder  came  over 
him  as  he  remembered  Tom  o'  the  Gleam,  and  the  cruel, 
uncalled-for  death  of  his  child,  the  only  human  creature  left 
to  him  in  the  world  to  care  for.  "  One  can  never  tell, 
whether  in  the  scheme  of  creation  there  is  such  a  being  as 
a  devil,  who  takes  joy  in  running  counter  to  the  beneficent 
intentions  of  the  Creator!  Light  exists — and  Darkness. 
Good  seems  co-equal  with  Evil.  It  is  all  mystery!  Now, 
suppose  Mary  were  to  die?  Suppose  she  were,  at  this  very 
moment,  dead  ?  " 

Such  a  horror  came  over  him  as  this  idea  presented  itself 
to  his  mind  that  he  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and  his  brain 
grew  dizzy.  He  had  walked  for  a  longer  time  than  he 
knew  since  the  cart  in  which  he  had  ridden  part  of  the  way 
had  left  him  at  about  four  miles  away  from  Weircombe,  and 


364      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

he  felt  that  he  must  sit  down  on  the  road-side  and  rest  for  a 
bit  before  going-  further.  How  cruel,  how  fiendish  it  would 
be,  he  continued  to  imagine,  if  Mary  were  dead !  It  would 
be  devil's  work ! — and  he  would  have  no  more  faith  in  God ! 
He  would  have  lost  his  last  hope, — and  he  would  fall -into 
the  grave  a  despairing  atheist  and  blasphemer!  Why,  if 
Mary  were  dead,  then  the  world  was  a  snare,  and  heaven  a 
delusion! — truth  a  trick,  and  goodness  a  lie!  Then — was 
all  the  past,  the  present,  and  future  hanging  for  him  like  a 
jewel  on  the  finger  of  one  woman?  He  was  bound  to  admit 
that  it  was  so.  He  was  also  bound  to  admit  that  all  the  past, 
present,  and  future  had,  for  poor  Tom  o'  the  Gleam,  been 
centred  in  one  little  child.  And — God? — no,  not  God — but 
a  devil,  using  as  his  tools  devilish  men, — had  killed  that 
child!  Then,  might  not  that  devil  kill  Mary?  His  head 
swam,  and  a  sickening  sense  of  bafflement  and  incompetency 
came  over  him.  He  had  made  his  will, — that  was  true ! — 
but  who  could  guarantee  that  she  whom  he  had  chosen  as 
his  heiress  would  live  to  inherit  his  wealth  ? 

"  I  wish  I  did  not  think  of  such  horrible  things !  "  he  said 
wearily — "  Or  I  wish  I  could  walk  faster,  and  get  home — 
home  to  the  little  cottage  quickly,  and  see  for  myself  that 
she  is  safe  and  well !  " 

Sitting  among  the  long  grass  and  field  flowers  by  the 
road-side,  he  grasped  his  stick  in  one  hand  and  leaned  his 
head  upon  that  support,  closing  his  eyes  in  sheer  fatigue  and 
despondency.  Suddenly  a  sound  startled  him,  and  he  strug- 
gled to  his  feet,  his  eyes  shining  with  an  intent  and  eager 
look.  That  clear,  tender  voice! — that  quick,  sweet  cry! 

"David!" 

He  listened  with  a  vague  and  dreamy  sense  of  pleasure. 
The  soft  patter  of  feet  across  the  grass — the  swish  of  a 
dress  against  the  leaves,  and  then — then — why,  here  was 
Mary  herself,  one  tress  of  her  lovely  hair  tumbling  loose  in 
the  sun,  her  eyes  bright  and  her  cheeks  crimson  with 
running. 

"  Oh,  David,  dear  old  David !  Here  you  are  at  last ! 
Why  did  you  go  away!  We  have  missed  you  dreadfully! 
David,  you  look  so  tired! — where  have  you  been?  Angus 
and  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  ever  so  long, — you  said  in 
your  letter  you  would  be  back  by  Sunday,  and  we  thought 
you  would  likely  choose  to-day  to  come — oh,  David? — you 
are  quite  worn  out !  Don't — don't  give  way !  " 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   365 

For  with  the  longed-for  sight  of  her,  the  world's  multi- 
millionaire had  become  only  a  weak,  over-wrought  old  man, 
and  his  tired  heart  had  leaped  in  his  breast  with  quite  a  poor 
and  common  human  joy  which  brought  the  tears  falling 
from  his  eyes  despite  himself.  She  was  beside  him  in  a 
moment,  her  arm  thrown  affectionately  about  his  shoulders, 
and  her  sweet  face  turned  up  close  to  his,  all  aglow  with 
sympathy  and  tenderness. 

"  Why  did  you  leave  us  ?  "  she  went  on  with  a  gentle  play- 
fulness, though  the  tears  were  in  her  own  eyes.  "  Whatever 
made  you  think  of  getting  work  out  of  Weircombe?  Oh, 
you  dissatisfied  old  boy !  I  thought  you  were  quite  happy 
with  me !  " 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  a  moment,  then  pressed  it  to 
his  lips. 

"  Happy !  "  he  murmured.  "  My  dear,  I  was  too  happy ! 
— and  I  felt  that  I  owed  you  too  much !  I  went  away  for  a 
bit  just  to  see  if  I  could  do  something  for  you  more  profitable 
than  basket-making " 

Mary  nodded  her  head  at  him  in  wise-like  fashion,  just 
as  if  he  were  a  spoilt  child. 

"  I  daresay  you  did !  "  she  said,  smiling.  "  And  what's 
the  end  of  it  all,  eh  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her,  and  in  the  brightness  of  her  smile, 
smiled  also. 

"  Well,  the  end  of  it  all  is  that  I've  come  back  to  you  in 
exactly  the  same  condition  in  which  I  went  away,"  he  said. 
"  No  richer, — no  poorer!  I've  got  nothing  to  do.  Nobody 
wants  old  people  on  their  hands  nowadays.  It's  a  rough 
time  of  the  world !  " 

"  You'll  always  find  the  world  rough  on  you  if  you  turn 
your  back  on  those  that  love  you !  "  she  said. 

He  lifted  his  head  and  gazed  at  her  with  such  a  pained  and 
piteous  appeal,  that  her  heart  smote  her.  He  looked  so  very 
ill,  and  his  worn  face  with  the  snow-white  hair  ruffled  about 
it,  was  so  pallid  and  thin. 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  do  that ! "  he  murmured 
tremulously.  "  God  forbid !  Mary,  you  don't  think  I 
would  ever  do  that  ?  " 

"  No — of  course  not !  "  she  answered  soothingly.  "  Be- 
cause you  see,  you've  come  back  again.  But  if  you  had 
gone  away  altogether " 

"  You'd  have  thought  me  an  ungrateful,  worthless  old 


S66      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

rascal,  wouldn't  you  ?  "  And  the  smile  again  sparkled  in  his 
dim  eyes.  "  And  you  and  Angus  Reay  would  have  said — 
'  Well,  never  mind  him !  He  served  one  useful  purpose  at 
any  rate — he  brought  us  together ! ' ' 

"  Now,  David !  "  said  Mary,  holding  up  a  warning  finger, 
"  You  know  we  shouldn't  have  talked  in  such  a  way  of  you 
at  all !  Even  if  you  had  never  come  back,  we  should  always 
have  thought  of  you  kindly — and  I  should  have  always 
loved  you  and  prayed  for  you !  " 

He  was  silent,  mentally  pulling  himself  together.  Then 
he  put  his  arm  gently  through  hers. 

"  Let  us  go  home,"  he  said.  "  I  can  walk  now.  Are  we 
far  from  the  coombe  ?  " 

"  Not  ten  minutes  off,"  she  answered,  glad  to  see  him 
more  cheerful  and  alert.  "  By  the  short  cut  it's  just  over 
the  brow  of  the  hill.  Will  you  come  that  way  ?  " 

"  Any  way  you  like  to  take  me,"  and  leaning  on  her  arm 
he  walked  bravely  on.  "  Where  is  Angus  ?  " 

"  I  left  him  sitting  under  a  tree  at  the  top  of  the  coombe 
near  the  Church,"  she  replied.  "  He  was  busy  with  his 
writing,  and  I  told  him  I  would  just  run  across  the  hill  and 
see  if  you  were  coming.  I  had  a  sort  of  fancy  you  would 
be  tramping  home  this  morning !  And  where  have  you  been 
all  these  days  ?  " 

"  A  good  way,"  he  answered  evasively.  "  I'm  rather  a 
slow  walker.", 

"  I  should  think  you  were ! "  and  she  laughed  good- 
humouredly.  "  You  must  have  been  pretty  near  us  all  the 
while ! " 

He  made  no  answer,  and  together  they  paced  slowly 
across  the  grass,  sweet  with  the  mixed  perfume  of  thousands 
of  tiny  close-growing  herbs  and  flowers  which  clung  in 
unseen  clumps  to  the  soil.  All  at  once  the  quaint  little  tower 
of  Weircombe  Church  thrust  its  ivy-covered  summit  above 
the  edge  of  the  green  slope  which  they  were  ascending, 
and  another  few  steps  showed  the  glittering  reaches  of  the 
sunlit  sea.  Helmsley  paused,  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  I  am  thankful  to  see  it  all  again ! "  he  said. 

She  waited,  while  leaning  heavily  on  her  arm  he  scanned 
the  whole  fair  landscape  with  a  look  of  eager  love  and 
longing.  She  saw  that  he  was  very  tired  and  exhausted, 
and  wondered  what  he  had  been  doing  with  himself  in  his 
days  of  absence  from  her  care,  but  she  had  too  much  deli- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   367 

cacy  and  feeling  for  him  to  ask  him  any  questions.  And 
she  was  glad  when  a  cheery  "  Hillo !  "  echoed  over  the 
hill  and  Angus  appeared,  striding  across  the  grass  and 
waving  his  cap  in  quite  a  jubilant  fashion.  As  soon  as 
he  saw  them  plainly  he  exchanged  his  stride  for  a  run  and 
came  up  to  them  in  a  couple  of  minutes. 

"  Why,  David !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  How  are  you,  old 
boy?  Welcome  back!  So  Mary  is  right  as  usual!  She 
said  she  was  sure  you  would  be  home  to-day !  " 

Helmsley  could  not  speak.  He  merely  returned  the  pres- 
sure of  Reay's  warm,  strong  hand  with  all  the  friendly 
fervour  of  which  he  was  capable.  A  glance  from  Mary's 
eyes  warned  Angus  that  the  old  man  was  sorely  tired — and 
he  at  once  offered  him  his  arm. 

"  Lean  on  me,  David,"  he  said.  "  Strong  as  bonnie  Mary 
is,  I'm  just  a  bit  stronger.  We'll  be  across  the  brae  in  no 
time  !  Charlie's  at  home  keeping  house !  " 

He  laughed,  and  Helmsley  smiled. 

"  Poor  wee  Charlie  !  "  he  said.    "  Did  he  miss  me  ?  '* 

"  That  he  did !  "  answered  Mary.  "  He's  been  quite  lone- 
some, and  not  contented  at  all  with  only  me.  Every  morn- 
ing and  every  night  he  went  into  your  room  looking  for 
you,  and  whined  so  pitifully  at  not  finding  you  that  I  had 
quite  a  trouble  to  comfort  him." 

"  More  tender-hearted  than  many  a  human  so-called 
'  friend  ' !  "  murmured  Helmsley. 

"  Why  yes,  of  course !  "  said  Reay.  "  There's  nothing 
more  faithful  on  earth  than  a  faithful  dog — except " — and 
he  smiled — "  a  faithful  husband !  " 

Mary  laughed. 

"Or  a  faithful  wife — which?"  she  playfully  demanded. 
"  How  does  the  old  rhyme  go — 

'  A  wife,  a  dog,  and  a  walnut  tree, 
The  more  you  beat  'em,  the  better  they  be ! ' 

Are  you  going  to  try  that  system  when  we  are  married, 
Angus?" 

She  laughed  again,  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
ran  on  a  little  in  front,  in  order  to  be  first  across  the  natural 
bridge  which  separated  them  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  "  coombe,"  and  from  the  spot  where  the  big  chestnut- 
tree  waved  its  fan-like  green  leaves  and  plumes  of  pinky 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

white  blossom  over  her  garden  gate.  Another  few  steps, 
made  easily  with  the  support  of  Reay's  strong  arm,  and 
Helmsley  found  himself  again  in  the  simple  little  raftered 
cottage  kitchen,  with  Charlie  tearing  madly  round  and 
round  him  in  ecstasy,  uttering  short  yelps  of  joy.  Some- 
thing struggled  in  his  throat  for  utterance, — it  seemed  ages 
since  he  had  last  seen  this  little  abode  of  peace  and  sweet 
content,  and  a  curious  impression  was  in  his  mind  of  hav- 
ing left  one  identity  here  to  take  up  another  less  pleasing 
one  elsewhere.  A  deep,  unspeakable  gratitude  overwhelmed 
him, — he  felt  to  the  full  the  sympathetic  environment  of 
love, — that  indescribable  sense  of  security  which  satisfies 
the  heart  when  it  knows  it  is  "  dear  to  some  one  else." 

"  If  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else, 
Then  I  should  be  to  myself  more  dear." 

For  there  is  nothing  in  the  whole  strange  symphony  of 
human  life,  with  its  concordances  and  dissonances,  that 
strikes  out  such  a  chord  of  perfect  music  as  the  conscious- 
ness of  love.  To  feel  that  there  is  one  at  least  in  the 
world  to  whom  you  are  more  dear  than  to  any  other  living 
being,  is  the  very  centralisation  of  life  and  the  mainspring 
of  action.  For  that  one  you  will  work  and  plan, — for 
that  one  you  will  seek  to  be  noble  and  above  the  average 
in  your  motives  and  character — for  that  one  you  will, 
despite  a  multitude  of  drawbacks,  agree  to  live.  But  with- 
out this  melodious  note  in  the  chorus  all  the  singing  is  in 
vain. 

Led  to  his  accustomed  chair  by  the  hearth,  Helmsley 
sank  into  it  restfully,  and  closed  his  eyes.  He  was  so 
thoroughly  tired  out  mentally  and  physically  with  the  strain 
he  had  put  upon  himself  in  undertaking  his  journey,  as 
well  as  in  getting  through  the  business  he  had  set  out  to  do, 
that  he  was  only  conscious  of  a  great  desire  to  sleep.  So 
that  when  he  shut  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  as  he  thought, 
he  was  quite  unaware  that  he  fell  into  a  dead  faint  and  so 
remained  for  nearly  half  an  hour.  When  he  came  to  him- 
self again,  Mary  was  kneeling  beside  him  with  a  very  pale 
face,  and  Angus  was  standing  quite  close  to  him,  while  no 
less  a  personage  than  Mr.  Bunce  was  holding  his  hand  and 
feeling  his  pulse. 

"  Better  now  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bunce,  in  a  voice  of  encourag- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   369 

ing  mildness.  "  We  have  done  too  much.  We  have  walked 
too  far.  We  must  rest." 

Helmsley  smiled — the  little  group  of  three  around  him 
looked  so  troubled,  while  he  himself  felt  nothing  unusual. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked.  "I'm  all  right — quite 
all  right.  Only  just  a  little  tired !  " 

"  Exactly ! "  And  Mr.  Bunce  nodded  profoundly. 
"  Just  a  little  tired !  We  have  taken  a  very  unnecessary 
journey  away  from  our  friends,  and  we  are  suffering  for 
it !  We  must  now  be  very  good ;  we  must  stay  at  home  and 
keep  quiet !  " 

Helmsley  looked  from  one  to  the  other  questioningly. 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  ill  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I'm  not,  really !  I 
feel  very  well." 

"  That's  all  right,  David,  dear ! "  said  Mary,  patting  his 
hand.  "  But  you  are  tired — you  know  you  are !  " 

His  eyes  rested  on  her  fondly. 

"  Yes,  I'm  tired,"  he  confessed.  "  But  that's  nothing." 
He  waited  a  minute,  looking  at  them  all.  "  That's  nothing ! 
Is  it,  Mr.  Bunce  ?  " 

"  When  w.e  are  young  it  is  nothing,"  replied  Mr.  Bunce 
cautiously.  "  But  when  we  are  old,  we  must  be  careful !  " 

Helmsley  smiled. 

"  Shake  hands,  Bunce !  "  he  said,  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word.  "  I'll  obey  your  orders,  never  fear !  I'll  sit 
quiet ! " 

And  he  showed  so  much  cheerfulness,  and  chatted  with 
them  all  so  brightly,  that,  for  the  time,  anxiety  was  dis- 
pelled. Mr.  Bunce  took  his  departure  promptly,  only  paus- 
ing at  the  garden  gate  to  give  a  hint  to  Angus  Reay. 

"  He  will  require  the  greatest  care.  Don't  alarm  Miss 
Deane — but  his  heart  was  always  weak,  and  it  has  grown 
perceptibly  weaker.  He  needs  complete  repose." 

Angus  returned  to  the  cottage  somewhat  depressed  after 
this,  and  from  that  moment  Helmsley  found  himself  sur- 
rounded with  evidences  of  tender  forethought  for  his  com- 
fort such  as  no  rich  man  could  ever  obtain  for  mere  cash 
payment.  The  finest  medical  skill  and  the  best  trained 
nursing  are,  we  know,  to  be  had  for  money, — but  the  sooth- 
ing touch  of  love, — the  wordless  sympathy  which  manifests 
itself  in  all  the  looks  and  movements  of  those  by  whom  a 
life  is  really  and  truly  held  precious — these  are  neither  to 
be  bought  nor  sold.  And  David  Helmsley  in  his  assumed 


370      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

character  of  a  man  too  old  and  too  poor  to  have  any  so- 
called  "  useful "  friends — a  mere  wayfarer  on  the  road, 
apparently  without  a  home,  or  any  prospect  of  obtaining 
one, — had,  by  the  simplest,  yet  strangest  chance  in  the 
world,  found  an  affection  such  as  he  had  never  in  his  most 
successful  and  most  brilliant  days  been  able  to  win.  He 
upon  whom  the  society  women  of  London  and  Paris  had 
looked  with  greedy  and  speculative  eyes,  wondering  how 
much  they  could  manage  to  get  out  of  him,  was  now  being 
cared  for  by  one  simple-hearted  sincere  woman,  who  had 
no  other  motive  for  her  affectionate  solicitude  save  gentlest 
compassion  and  kindness ; — he  whom  crafty  kings  had  in- 
vited to  dine  with  them  because  of  his  enormous  wealth, 
and  because  is  was  possible  that,  for  the  "  honour "  of 
sitting  at  the  same  table  with  them  he  might  tide  them  over 
a  financial  difficulty,  was  now  tended  with  more  than  the 
duty  and  watchfulness  of  a  son  in  the  person  of  a  poor 
journalist,  kicked  out  of  employment  for  telling  the  public 
certain  important  facts  concerning  financial  "  deals "  on 
the  part  of  persons  of  influence — a  journalist,  who  for  this 
very  cause  was  likely  never  more  to  be  a  journalist,  but 
rather  a  fighter  against  bitter  storm  and  stress,  for  the  fair 
wind  of  popular  favour, — that  being  generally  the  true  posi- 
tion of  any  independent  author  who  has  something  new  and 
out  of  the  common  to  say  to  the  world.  Angus  Reay,  work- 
ing steadily  and  hopefully  on  his  gradually  diminishing 
little  stock  of  money,  with  all  his  energies  bent  on  cutting 
a  diamond  of  success  out  of  the  savagely  hard  rock  of 
human  circumstance,  was  more  filial  in  his  respect  and 
thought  for  Helmsley  than  either  of  Helmsley's  own  sons 
had  been ;  while  his  character  was  as  far  above  the  charac- 
ters of  those  two  ne'er-do-weel  sprouts  of  their  mother's 
treachery  as  light  is  above  darkness.  And  the  multi-million- 
aire was  well  content  to  rest  in  the  little  cottage  where  he 
had  found  a  real  home,  watching  the  quiet  course  of  events, 
• — and  waiting — waiting  for  something  which  he  found  him- 
Self  disposed  to  expect — a  something  to  which  he  could  not 
'give  a  name. 

There  was  quite  a  little  rejoicing  in  the  village  of  Weir- 
combe  when  it  was  known  he  had  returned  from  his  brief 
wanderings,  and  there  was  also  a  good  deal  of  commisera- 
tion expressed  for  him  when  it  was  known  that  he  was 
somewhat  weakened  in  physical  health  by  his  efforts  to  find 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   371 

more  paying  work.  Many  of  the  children  with  whom  he 
was  a  favourite  came  up  to  see  him,  bringing  little  knots 
of  flowers,  or  curious  trophies  of  weed  and  shells  from 
the  sea-shore — and  now  that  the  weather  was  settled  fine 
and  warm,  he  became  accustomed  to  sit  in  his  chair  outside 
the  cottage  door  in  the  garden,  with  the  old  sweet-briar  bush 
shedding  perfume  around  him,  and  a  clambering  rose  break- 
ing into  voluptuous  creamy  pink  blossom  above  his  head. 
Here  he  would  pursue  his  occupation  of  basket-making, 
and  most  of  the  villagers  made  it  their  habit  to  pass  up  and 
down  at  least  once  or  twice  a  day  in  their  turns,  to  see 
how  he  fared,  or,  as  they  themselves  expressed  it,  "to 
keep  old  David  going."  His  frail  bent  figure,  his  thin,  in- 
tellectual face,  with  its  composed  expression  of  peace  and 
resignation,  his  soft  white  hair,  and  his  slow  yet  ever 
patiently  working  hands,  made  up  a  picture  which,  set  in 
the  delicate  framework  of  leaf  and  blossom,  was  one  to 
impress  the  imagination  and  haunt  the  memory.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Twitt  were  constant  visitors,  and  many  were  the 
would-be  jocose  remarks  of  the  old  stone-mason  on  David's 
temporary  truancy. 

"  Wanted  more  work,  did  ye  ?  "  And  thrusting  his  hands 
deep  in  the  pockets  of  his  corduroys,  Twitt  looked  at  him 
with  a  whimsical  complacency.  "  Well,  why  didn't  ye  come 
down  to  the  stoneyard  an'  learn  'ow  to  cut  a  hepitaph? 
Nice  chippy,  easy  work  in  its  way,  an'  no  'arm  in  yer  sittin' 
down  to  it.  Why  didn't  ye,  eh  ?  " 

"  I've  never  had  enough  education  for  such  work  as  that, 
Mr.  Twitt,"  answered  David  mildly,  with  something  of  a 
humorous  sparkle  in  his  eyes.  "  I'm  afraid  I  should  spoil 
more  than  I  could  pay  for.  You  want  an  artist — not  an 
untrained  clumsy  old  fellow  like  me." 

"  Oh,  blow  artists  !  "  said  Mr.  Twitt  irreverently.  "  They 
talks  a  lot — they  talks  yer  'ed  off — but  they  doos  onny  'arf 
the  labour  as  they  spends  in  waggin'  their  tongues.  An' 
for  a  hepitaph,  they  none  of  'em  aint  got  an  idee.  It's 
allus  Scripter  texes  with  'em, — they  aint  got  no  'riginality. 
Now  I'm  a  reg'lar  Scripter  reader,  an'  nowheres  do  I  find 
it  writ  as  we're  to  use  the  words  o'  God  Himself  to  carve 
on  tombstones  for  our  speshul  convenience,  cos  we  aint 
no  notions  o'  feelin'  an'  respect  of  our  own.  But  artists 
can't  think  o'  nothin',  an'  I  never  cares  to  employ  'em.  Yet 
for  all  that  there's  not  a  sweeter,  pruttier  place  than  our 


372      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

little  cemetery  nowheres  in  all  the  world.  There  aint  no 
tyranny  in  it,  an'  no  pettifoggin'  interference.  Why,  there's 
places  in  England  where  ye  can't  put  what  ye  likes  over 
the  grave  o'  yer  dead  friends ! — ye've  got  to  '  submit '  yer 
idee  to  the  parzon,  or  wot's  worse,  the  Corporation,  if  ser 
be  yer  last  go-to-bed  place  is  near  a  town.  There's  a  town 
I  know  of,"  and  here  Mr.  Twitt  began  to  laugh, — "  wheer 
ye  can't  'ave  a  moniment  put  up  to  your  dead  folk  without 
'  subjectin' '  the  design  to  the  Town  Council — an'  we  all 
knows  the  fine  taste  o'  Town  Councils !  They'se  '  artists,' 
an'  no  mistake!  I've  got  the  rules  of  the  cemetery  of  that 
town  for  my  own  eddification.  They  runs  like  this — " 
And  drawing  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  he  read  as  follows : — 

"  '  All  gravestones,  monuments,  tombs,  tablets,  memorials, 
palisades,  curbs,  and  inscriptions  shall  be  subject  to  the 
approval  of  the  Town  Council;  and  a  drawing,  showing 
the  form,  materials,  and  dimensions  of  every  gravestone, 
monument,  tomb,  tablet,  memorial,  palisades,  or  curb  pro- 
posed to  be  erected  or  fixed,  together  with  a  copy  of  the 
inscription  intended  to  be  cut  thereon  (if  any),  on  the  form 
provided  by  the  Town  Council,  must  be  left  at  the  office 
of  the  Clerk  at  least  ten  days  before  the  first  Tuesday  in 
any  month.  The  Town  Council  reserve  to  themselves  the 
right  to  remove  or  prevent  the  erection  of  any  monument, 
tomb,  tablet,  memorial,  etc.,  which  shall  not  have  previously 
received  their  sanction.'  There!  What  d'  ye  think  of 
that?" 

Helmsley  had  listened  in  astonishment. 

"  Think  ?  I  think  it  is  monstrous ! "  he  said,  with  some 
indignation.  "  Such  a  Town  Council  as  that  is  a  sort  of 
many-headed  tyrant,  resolved  to  persecute  the  unhappy 
townspeople  into  their  very  graves !  " 

"  Right  y'  are !  "  said  Twitt.  "  But  there's  a  many  on 
'em !  An'  ye  may  thank  yer  stars  ye're  not  anywheres 
under  'em.  Now  when  you  goes  the  way  o'  all  flesh " 

He  paused,  suddenly  embarrassed,  and  conscious  that 
he  had  perhaps  touched  on  a  sore  subject.  But  Helmsley 
reassured  him. 

"  Yes,  Twitt  ?    Don't  stop !— what  then  ?  " 

"Why,  then,"  said  Twitt,  almost  tenderly,  "ye'll  'ave 
our  good  old  parzon  to  see  ye  properly  tucked  under  a 
daisy  quilt,  an'  wotever  ye  wants  put  on  yer  tomb,  or  wot- 
ever's  writ  on  it,  can  be  yer  own  desire,  if  ye'll  think  about 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   373 

it  afore  ye  goes.  An'  there'll  be  no  expense  at  all — for 
I  tell  ye  just  the  truth — I've  grown  to  like  ye  that  well  that 
I'll  carve  ye  the  pruttiest  little  tombstone  ye  ever  seed  for 
nothin' ! " 

Helmsley  smiled. 

"  Well,  I  shan't  be  able  to  thank  you  then,  Mr.  Twitt, 
so  I  thank  you  now,"  he  said.  "  You  know  a  good  deed  is 
always  rewarded,  if  not  in  this  world,  then  in  the  next." 

"  I  b'leeve  that,"  rejoined  Twitt ;  "  I  b'leeve  it  true. 
And  though  I  know  Mis'  Deane  is  that  straight  an'  'onest, 
she'd  see  ye  properly  mementoed  an'  paid  for,  I  wouldn't 
take  a  penny  from  'er — not  on  account  of  a  kindly  old 
gaffer  like  yerself.  I'd  do  it  all  friendly." 

"  Of  course  you  would ! "  and  Helmsley  shook  his  hand 
heartily ;  "  And  of  course  you  will! " 

This,  and  many  other  conversations  he  had  with  Twitt 
and  a  certain  few  of  the  villagers,  showed  him  that  the 
little  community  of  Weircombe  evidently  thought  of  him 
as  being  not  long  for  this  world.  He  accepted  the  position 
quietly,  and  passed  day  after  day  peacefully  enough,  with- , 
out  feeling  any  particular  illness,  save  a  great  weakness 
in  his  limbs.  He  was  in  himself  particularly  happy,  for 
Mary  was  always  with  him,  and  Angus  passed  every  even- 
ing with  them  both.  Another  great  pleasure,  too,  he  found 
in  the  occasional  and  entirely  unobtrusive  visits  of  the  par- 
son of  the  little  parish — a  weak  and  ailing  man  physically, 
but  in  soul  and  intellect  exceptionally  strong.  As  different 
from  the  Reverend  Mr.  Arbroath  as  an  old-time  Crusader 
would  be  from  a  modern  jockey,  he  recognised  the  sacred 
character  of  his  mission  as  an  ordained  minister  of  Christ, 
and  performed  that  mission  simply  and  faithfully.  He 
would  sit  by  Helmsley's  chair  of  a  summer  afternoon  and 
talk  with  him  as  friend  to  friend — it  made  no  differ- 
ence to  him  that  to  all  appearances  the  old  man  was  poor 
and  dependent  on  Mary  Deane's  bounty,  and  that  his  for- 
mer life  was,  to  him,  the  clergyman,  a  sealed  book;  he  was 
there  to  cheer  and  to  comfort,  not  to  inquire,  reproach,  or 
condemn.  He  was  the  cheeriest  of  companions,  and  the 
most  hopeful  of  believers. 

"  If  all  clergymen  were  like  you,  sir,"  said  Helmsley  to 
him  one  day,  "  there  would  be  no  atheists !  " 

The  good  man  reddened  at  the  compliment,  as  though 
he  had  been  accused  of  a  crime. 


374      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  You  think  too  kindly  of  my  efforts,"  he  said  gently.  "  I 
only  speak  to  you  as  I  would  wish  others  to  speak  to  me." 

" '  For  this  is  the  Law  and  the  Prophets ! '  "  murmured 
Helmsley.'  "  Sir,  will  you  tell  me  one  thing — are  there  many 
poor  people  in  Weircombe  ?  " 

The  clergyman  looked  a  trifle  surprised. 

"  Why,  yes,  to  tell  the  exact  truth,  they  are  all  poor  peo- 
ple in  Weircombe,"  he  answered.  "  You  see,  it  is  really 
only  a  little  fishing  village.  The  rich  people's  places  are 
situated  all  about  it,  here  and  there  at  various  miles 
of  distance,  but  no  one  with  money  lives  in  Weircombe 
itself." 

"  Yet  every  one  seems  happy,"  said  Helmsley  thoughtfully. 

"  Oh,  yes,  every  one  not  only  seems,  but  is  happy !  " 
and  the  clergyman  smiled.  "  They  have  the  ordinary  trou- 
bles that  fall  to  the  common  lot,  of  course — but  they  are 
none  of  them  discontented.  There's  very  little  drunkenness, 
and  as  a  consequence,  very  little  quarrelling.  They  are  a 
good  set  of  people — typically  English  of  England !  " 

"  If  some  millionaire  were  to  leave  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  a  thousand  or  more  pounds  apiece,  I  wonder  what 
would  happen  ?  "  suggested  Helmsley. 

"  Their  joy  would  be  turned  to  misery !  "  said  the  clergy- 
man— "  and  their  little  heaven  would  become  a  hell !  For- 
tunately for  them,  such  a  disaster  is  not  likely  to  happen ! " 

Helmsley  was  silent;  and  after  his  kindly  visitor  had 
left  him  that  day  sat  for  a  long  time  absorbed  in  thought, 
his  hands  resting  idly  on  the  osiers  which  he  was  gradually 
becoming  too  weak  to  bend. 

It  was  now  wearing  on  towards  the  middle  of  June,  and 
on  one  fine  morning  when  Mary  was  carefully  spreading 
out  on  a  mending-frame  a  wonderful  old  flounce  of  price- 
less point  d'Alengon  lace,  preparatory  to  examining  the 
numerous  repairs  it  needed,  Helmsley  turned  towards  her 
abruptly  with  the  question — 

"  When  are  you  and  Angus  going  to  be  married,  my 
dear?" 

Mary  smiled,  and  the  soft  colour  flew  over  her  face  at 
the  suggestion. 

"  Oh,  not  for  a  long  time  yet,  David ! "  she  replied. 
"Angus  has  not  yet  finished  his  book, — and  even  when  it 
is  all  done,  he  has  to  get  it  published.  He  won't  have  tfar 
banns  put  up  till  the  book  is  accepted." 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   375 

"  Won't  he  ?  "  And  Helmsley's  eyes  grew  very  wistful. 
"Why  not?" 

"  Well,  it's  for  quite  a  good  reason,  after  all,"  she  said. 
"  He  wants  to  feel  perfectly  independent.  You  see,  if  he 
could  get  even  a  hundred  pounds  down  for  his  book  he 
would  be  richer  than  I  am,  and  it  would  be  all  right.  He'd 
never  marry  me  with  nothing  at  all  of  his  own." 

"  Yet  you  would  marry  him  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I  would,"  and  she  lifted  her  hand 
with  a  prettily  proud  gesture.  "  You  see,  David,  I  really 
love  him!  And  my  love  is  too  strong  and  deep  for  me  to 
be  so  selfish  as  to  wish  to  drag  him  down.  I  wouldn't 
have  him  lower  his  own  self-respect  for  the  world ! " 

"  Love  is  greater  than  self-respect !  "  said  Helmsley. 

"  Oh,  David !  You  know  better  than  that !  There's  no 
love  without  self-respect — no  real  love,  I  mean.  There 
are  certain  kinds  of  stupid  fancies  called  love — but  they've 
no  '  wear '  in  them !  "  and  she  laughed.  "  They  wouldn't 
last  a  month,  let  alone  a  lifetime !  " 

He  sighed  a  little,  and  his  lips  trembled  nervously. 

"  I'm  afraid,  my  dear, — I'm  afraid  I  shall  not  live  to  see 
you  married !  "  he  said. 

She  left  her  lace  frame  and  came  to  his  side. 

"  Don't  say  that,  David !  You  mustn't  think  it  for  a 
moment.  You're  much  better  than  you  were — even  Mr. 
Bunce  says  so !  " 

"  Even  Mr.  Bunce !  "  And  he  took  her  hand  in  his  own 
and  studied  its  smooth  whiteness  and  beautiful  shape  at- 
tentively— anon  he  patted  it  tenderly.  "  You  have  a  pretty 
hand,  Mary !  It's  a  rare  beauty  !  " 

"  Is  it  ?  "  And  she  looked  at  her  rosy  palm  meditatively. 
"  I've  never  thought  much  about  it — but  I've  noticed  that 
Angus  and  you  both  have  nice  hands." 

"  Especially  Angus !  "  said  Helmsley,  with  a  smile. 

Her  face  reflected  the  smile. 

"  Yes.    Especially  Angus !  " 

After  this  little  conversation  Helmsley  was  very  quiet 
and  thoughtful.  Often  indeed  he  sat  with  eyes  closed,  pre- 
tending to  sleep,  in  order  inwardly  to  meditate  on  the  plans 
he  had  most  at  heart.  He  saw  no  reason  to  alter  them, — 
though  the  idea  presented  itself  once  or  twice  as  to  whether 
he  should  not  reveal  his  actual  identity  to  the  clergyman 
who  visited  him  so  often,  and  who  was,  apart  from  his 


S76      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

sacred  calling,  not  only  a  thinking,  feeling,  humane  creature, 
but  a  very  perfect  gentleman.  But  on  due  reflection  he 
saw  that  this  might  possibly  lead  to  awkward  complications, 
so  he  still  resolved  to  pursue  the  safer  policy  of  silence. 

One  evening,  when  Angus  Reay  had  come  in  as  usual  to 
sit  awhile  and  chat  with  him  before  he  went  to  bed,  he 
could  hardly  control  a  slight  nervous  start  when  Reay  ob- 
served casually — 

"  By  the  way,  David,  that  old  millionaire  I  told  you 
about,  Helmsley,  isn't  dead  after  all !  " 

"  Oh— isn't  he  ?  "  And  Helmsley  feigned  to  be  affected 
with  a  troublesome  cough  which  necessitated  his  looking 
away  for  a  minute.  "  Has  he  turned  up  ?  " 

"  Yes — he's  turned  up.  That  is  to  say,  that  he's  expected 
back  in  town  for  the  '  season,'  as  the  Cooing  Column  of 
the  paper  says." 

"  Why,  what's  the  Cooing  Column  ?  "  asked  Mary,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  The  fashionable  intelligence  corner,"  answered  Angus, 
joining  in  her  laughter.  "  I  call  it  the  Cooing  Column,  be- 
cause it's  the  place  where  all  the  doves  of  society,  soiled 
and  clean,  get  their  little  grain  of  personal  advertisement. 
They  pay  for  it,  of  course.  There  it  is  that  the  disreputable 
Mrs.  Mushroom  Ketchup  gets  it  announced  that  she  wore  a 
collar  of  diamonds  at  the  Opera,  and  there  the  battered,  dis- 
sipated Lord  '  Jimmy  '  Jenkins  has  it  proudly  stated  that  his 
yacht  is  undergoing  '  extensive  alterations.'  Who  in  the  real 
work-a-day,  sane  world  cares  a  button  whether  his  lordship 
Jenkins  sails  in  his  yacht  or  sinks  in  it !  And  Mrs.  Mush- 
room Ketchup's  diamonds  are  only  so  much  fresh  fuel  piled 
on  the  burning  anguish  of  starving  and  suffering  men, — 
anguish  which  results  in  anarchy.  Any  number  of  anar- 
chists are  bred  from  the  Cooing  Column !  " 

"What  would  you  have  rich  men  do?"  asked  Helmsley 
suddenly.  "  If  all  their  business  turns  out  much  more  suc- 
cessfully than  they  have  ever  expected,  and  they  make 
millions  almost  despite  their  own  desire,  what  would  you 
have  them  do  with  their  wealth  ?  " 

Angus  thought  a  moment. 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  advise,"  he  said  at  last.  "  For 
one  thing  I  would  not  have  them  pauperise  two  of  the  finest 
things  in  this  world  and  the  best  worth  fighting  for — 
Education  and  Literature.  The  man  who  has  no  struggle 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   377 

at  all  to  get  himself  educated  is  only  half  a  man.  And 
literature  which  is  handed  to  the  people  free  of  cost  is 
shamed  by  being  put  at  a  lower  level  than  beer  and  pota- 
toes, for  which  every  man  has  to  pay.  Andrew  Carnegie 
I  look  upon  as  one  of  the  world's  big  meddlers.  A  '  cute ' 
meddler  too,  for  he  takes  care  to  do  nothing  that  hasn't 
got  his  name  tacked  on  to  it.  However,  I'm  in  great  hopes 
that  his  pauperising  of  Scottish  University  education  may  in 
time  wear  itself  out,  and  that  Scotsmen  will  be  sufficiently 
true  to  the  spirit  of  Robert  Burns  to  stick  to  the  busi- 
ness of  working  and  paying  for  what  they  get.  I  hate  all 
things  that  are  given  gratis.  There's  always  a  smack  of 
the  advertising  agent  about  them.  God  Himself  gives  noth- 
ing '  free  ' — you've  got  to  pay  with  your  very  life  for  each 
gulp  of  air  you  breathe, — and  rightly  too !  And  if  you  try 
to  get  something  out  of  His  creation  without  paying  for 
it,  the  bill  is  presented  in  due  course  with  compound 
interest ! " 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Helmsley.  "  But  what,  then, 
of  the  poor  rich  men?  You  don't  approve  of  Carnegie's 
methods  of  disbursing  wealth;  What  would  you  sug- 
gest?" 

"  The  doing  of  private  good,"  replied  Angus  promptly. 
"  Good  that  is  never  heard  of,  never  talked  of,  never  men- 
tioned in  the  Cooing  Column.  A  rich  man  could  perform 
acts  of  the  most  heavenly  and  helpful  kindness  if  he  would 
only  go  about  personally  and  privately  among  the  very 
poor,  make  friends  with  them,  and  himself  assist  them.  But 
he  will  hardly  ever  do  this.  Now  the  millionaire  who  is 
going  to  marry  my  first  love,  Lucy  Sorrel " 

"  Oh,  is  he  going  to  marry  her?  "  And  Helmsley  looked 
up  with  sudden  interest. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  he  is !  "  And  Angus  threw  back  his 
head  and  laughed.  "  He's  to  be  back  in  town  for  the 
'  season  ' — and  you  know  what  the  London  '  season  '  is !  " 

"  I'm  sure  we  don't !  "  said  Mary,  with  an  amused  glance. 
"Tell  us!" 

"  An  endless  round  of  lunches,  dinners,  balls,  operas, 
theatres,  card-parties,  and  inane  jabber,"  he  answered.  "  A 
mixture  of  various  kinds  of  food  which  people  eat  reck- 
lessly with  the  natural  results, — dyspepsia,  inertia,  mental 
vacuity,  and  general  uselessness.  A  few  Court  '  functions,' 
some  picture  shows,  and  two  or  three  great  races — and — 


378      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

that's  all.  Some  unfortunate  marriages  are  usually  the 
result  of  each  year's  motley." 

"  And  you  think  the  millionaire  you  speak  of  will  be  one 
of  the  unfortunate  ones  ?  "  said  Helmsley. 

"  Yes,  David,  I  do !  If  he's  going  back  to  London  for 
the  season,  Lucy  Sorrel  will  never  let  him  out  of  her  sight 
again!  She's  made  up  her  mind  to  be  a  Mrs.  Millionaire, 
and  she's  not  troubled  by  any  over-sensitiveness  or  delicacy 
of  sentiment." 

"  That  I  quite  believe — from  what  you  have  told  me," — 
and  Helmsley  smiled.  "  But  what  do  the  papers — what 
does  the  Cooing  Column  say  ?  " 

"  The  Cooing  Column  says  that  one  of  the  world's  great- 
est millionaires,  Mr.  David  Helmsley,  who  has  been  abroad 
for  nearly  a  year  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  will  return 
to  his  mansion  in  Carlton  House  Terrace  this  month  for 
the  '  season.' " 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  That's  all.  Mary,  my  bonnie  Mary," — and  Angus  put 
an  arm  tenderly  round  the  waist  of  his  promised  wife — 
"  Your  husband  may,  perhaps — only  perhaps ! — become  fa- 
mous— but  you'll  never,  never  be  a  Mrs.  Millionaire !  " 

She  laughed  and  blushed  as  he  kissed  her. 

"  I  don't  want  ever  to  be  rich,"  she  said.  "  I'd  rather 
be  poor ! " 

They  went  out  into  the  little  garden  then,  with  their  arms 
entwined, — and  Helmsley,  seated  in  his  chair  under  the 
rose-covered  porch,  watched  them  half  in  gladness,  half  in 
trouble.  Was  he  doing  well  for  them,  he  wondered?  Or 
ill?  Would  the  possession  of  wealth  disturb  the  idyll  of 
their  contented  lives,  their  perfect  love?  Almost  he  wished 
that  he  really  were  in  very  truth  the  forlorn  and  homeless 
wayfarer  he  had  assumed  to  be, — wholly  and  irrevocably 
poor! 

That  night  in  his  little  room,  when  everything  was  quiet, 
and  Mary  was  soundly  sleeping  in  the  attic  above  him, 
he  rose  quietly  from  his  bed,  and  lighting  a  candle,  took 
pen  and  ink  and  made  a  few  additions  to  the  letter  of  in- 
structions  which  accompanied  his  will.  Some  evenings  pre- 
viously, when  Mary  and  Angus  had  gone  out  for  a  walk 
together,  he  had  taken  the  opportunity  to  disburden  his 
"  workman's  coat "  of  all  the  banknotes  contained  in  the 
lining,  and,  folding  them  up  in  one  parcel,  had  put  them 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   379 

in  a  sealed  envelope,  which  envelope  he  marked  in  a  certain 
fashion,  enclosing  it  in  the  larger  envelope  which  contained 
his  will.  In  the  same  way  he  made  a  small,  neatly  sealed 
packet  of  the  "  collection  "  made  for  him  at  the  "  Trusty 
Man  "  by  poor  Tom  o'  the  Gleam,  marking  that  also.  Now, 
on  this  particular  night,  feeling  that  he  had  done  all  he 
could  think  of  to  make  business  matters  fairly  easy  to  deal 
with,  he  packed  up  everything  in  one  parcel,  which  he  tied 
with  a  string  and  sealed  securely,  addressing  it  to  Sir 
Francis  Vesey.  This  parcel  he  again  enclosed  in  another, 
equally  tied  up  and  sealed,  the  outer  wrapper  of  which  he 
addressed  to  one  John  Bulteel  at  certain  offices  in  London, 
which  were  in  truth  the  offices  of  Vesey  and  Symonds, 
Bulteel  being  their  confidential  clerk.  The  fact  that  Angus 
Reay  knew  the  name  of  the  firm  which  had  been  mentioned 
in  the  papers  as  connected  with  the  famous  millionaire, 
David  Helmsley,  caused  him  to  avoid  inscribing  it  on  the 
packet  which  would  have  to  be  taken  to  its  destination  im- 
mediately after  his  death.  As  he  had  now  arranged  things, 
it  would  be  conveyed  to  the  office  unsuspectingly,  and 
Bulteel,  opening  the  first  wrapper,  would  see  that  the  con- 
tents were  for  Sir  Francis,  and  would  take  them  to  him  at 
once.  Locking  the  packet  in  the  little  cupboard  in  the  wall 
which  Mary  had  given  him,  as  she  playfully  said,  "  to  keep 
his  treasures  in  " — he  threw  himself  again  on  his  bed,  and, 
thoroughly  exhausted,  tried  to  sleep. 

"  It  will  be  all  right,  I  think ! "  he  murmured  to  himself, 
as  he  closed  his  eyes  wearily — "  At  any  rate,  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  I  have  done  with  the  world !  God  grant 
some  good  may  come  of  my  millions  after  I  am  dead !  After 
I  am  dead !  How  strange  it  sounds !  What  will  it  seem  like, 
I  wonder, — to  be  dead  ?  " 

And  he  suddenly  thought  of  a  poem  he  had  read  some 
years  back, — one  of  the  finest  and  most  daring  thoughts  ever 
expressed  in  verse,  from  the  pen  of  a  fine  and  much  neg- 
lected poet,  Robert  Buchanan: — 

"  Master,  if  there  be  Doom, 

All  men  are  bereaven ! 
If  in  the  Universe 
One  Spirit  receive  the  curse, 

Alas  for  Heaven! 
If  there  be  Doom  for  one, 
Thou,  Master,  art  undone ! 


380     THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN, 

"Were  I  a  Soul  in  Heaven, 

Afar  from  pain; — 
Yea,  on  thy  breast  of  snow, 
At  the  scream  of  one  below, 

I  should  scream  again — 
Art  Thou  less  piteous  than 
The  conception  of  a  Man?" 

"  No,  no,  not  less  piteous !  "  he  murmured — "  But  surely 
infinitely  more  pitiful !  " 


CHAPTER     XXII 

AND  now  there  came  a  wondrous  week  of  perfect  weather. 
All  the  lovely  Somersetshire  coast  lay  under  the  warmth 
and  brilliance  of  a  dazzling  sun, — the  sea  was  smooth, — 
and  small  sailing  skiffs  danced  merrily  up  and  down  from 
Minehead  to  Weircombe  and  back  again  with  the  ease  and 
security  of  seabirds,  whose  happiest  resting-place  is  on  the 
Waves.  A  lovely  calm  environed  the  little  village, — it  was 
not  a  haunt  of  cheap  "  trippers," — and  summer-time  was 
not  only  a  working-time,  but  a  playing  time  too  with  all 
the  inhabitants,  both  young  and  old.  The  shore,  with  its 
fine  golden  sand,  warm  with  the  warmth  of  the  cloudless 
sky,  was  a  popular  resort,  and  Helmsley,  though  his  phys- 
ical weakness  perceptibly  increased,  was  often  able  to  go 
down  there,  assisted  by  Mary  and  Angus,  one  on  each  side 
supporting  him  and  guarding  his  movements.  It  pleased 
him  to  sit  under  the  shelter  of  the  rocks  and  watch  the  long 
shining  ripples  of  ocean  roll  forwards  and  backwards  on 
the  shore  in  silvery  lines,  edged  with  delicate,  lace-like 
fringes  of  foam, — and  the  slow,  monotonous  murmur  of 
the  gathering  and  dispersing  water  soothed  his  nerves  and 
hushed  a  certain  inward  fretfulness  of  spirit  which  teased 
him  now  and  then,  but  to  which  he  bravely  strove  not  to 
give  way.  Sometimes — but  only  sometimes — he  felt  that  it 
was  hard  to  die.  Hard  to  be  old  just  as  he  was  beginning 
to  learn  how  to  live, — hard  to  pass  out  of  the  beauty  and 
wonder  of  this  present  life  with  all  its  best  joys  scarcely  ex- 
perienced, and  exchange  the  consciousness  of  what  little 
he  knew  for  something  concerning  which  no  one  could 
honestly  give  him  any  authentic  information. 

"  Yet  I  might  have  said  the  same,  had  I  been  conscious, 
before  I  was  born ! "  he  thought.  "  In  a  former  state  of 
existence  I  might  have  said,  '  Why  send  me  from  this  that 
I  know  and  enjoy,  to  something  which  I  have  not  seen  and 
therefore  cannot  believe  in  ? '  Perhaps,  for  all  I  can  tell, 
I  did  say  it.  And  yet  God  had  His  way  with  me  and  placed 
me  here — for  what?  Only  to  learn  a  lesson!  That  is 
truly  all  I  have  done.  For  the  making  of  money  is  as 

381 


382      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

nothing  in  the  sight  of  Eternal  Law, — it  is  merely  man's 
accumulation  of  perishable  matter,  which,  like  all  perishable 
things,  is  swept  away  in  due  course,  while  he  who  accumu- 
lated it  is  of  no  more  account  as  a  mere  corpse  than  his 
poverty-stricken  brother.  What  a  foolish  striving  it  all  is ! 
What  envyings,  spites,  meannesses  and  miserable  pettinesses 
arise  from  this  greed  of  money !  Yes,  I  have  learned  my 
lesson !  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  now  be  permitted  to  pass 
into  a  higher  standard,  and  begin  again ! " 

These  inner  musings  sometimes  comforted  and  sometimes 
perplexed  him,  and  often  he  was  made  suddenly  aware  of 
a  strange  and  exhilarating  impression  of  returning  youth- 
fulness — a  buoyancy  of  feeling  and  a  delightful  ease,  such 
as  a  man  in  full  vigour  experiences  when,  after  ascending 
some  glorious  mountain  summit,  he  sees  the  panorama  of 
a  world  below  him.  His  brain  was  very  clear  and  active 
— and  whenever  he  chose  to  talk,  there  were  plenty  of  his 
humble  friends  ready  to  listen.  One  day  the  morning  papers 
were  full  of  great  headlines  announcing  the  assassination  of 
one  of  the  world's  throned  rulers,  and  the  Weircombe 
fishermen,  discussing  the  news,  sought  the  opinion  of  "  old 
David  "  concerning  the  matter.  "  Old  David  "  was,  how- 
ever, somewhat  slow  to  be  drawn  on  so  questionable  a  sub- 
ject, but  Angus  Reay  was  not  so  reticent. 

"  Why  should  kings  spend  money  recklessly  on  their  often 
filthy  vices  and  pleasures,"  he  demanded,  "  while  thousands, 
ay,  millions  of  their  subjects  starve?  As  long  as  such  a 
wretched  state  of  things  exists,  so  long  will  there  be  An- 
archy. But  I  know  the  head  and  front  of  the  offending! 
I  know  the  Chief  of  all  the  Anarchists !  " 

"  Lord  bless  us !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Twitt,  who  happened 
to  be  standing  by.  "  Ye  don't  say  so !  Wot's  'ee  like  ?  " 

"  He's  all  shapes  and  sizes — all  colours  too !  "  laughed 
Angus.  "  He's  simply  the  Irresponsible  Journalist !  " 

"  As  you  were  once !  "  suggested  Helmsley,  with  a  smile. 

"  No,  I  was  never  '  irresponsible/  "  declared  Reay,  em- 
phatically. "  I  may  have  been  faulty  in  the  following  of 
my  profession,  but  I  never  wrote  a  line -that  I  thought  might 
cause  uneasiness  in  the  minds  of  the  million.  What  I  mean 
is,  that  the  Irresponsible  Journalist  who  gives  more  promi- 
nence to  the  doings  of  kings  and  queens  and  stupid  '  society  ' 
folk,  than  to  the  actual  work,  thought,  and  progress  of  the 
nation  at  large,  is  making  a  forcing-bed  for  the  growth 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   383 

of  Anarchy.  Consider  the  feelings  of  a  starving  man  who 
reads  in  a  newspaper  that  certain  people  in  London  give 
dinners  to  their  friends  at  a  cost  of  Two  Guineas  a  head ! 
Consider  the  frenzied  passion  of  a  father  who  sees  his  chil- 
dred  dying  of  want,  when  he  reads  that  the  mistress  of  a 
king  wears  diamonds  worth  forty  thousand  pounds  round 
her  throat  1  If  the  balance  of  material  things  is  for  the 
present  thus  set  awry,  and  such  vile  and  criminal  anachron- 
isms exist,  the  proprietors  of  newspapers  should  have  better 
sense  than  to  flaunt  them  before  the  public  eye  as  though 
they  deserved  admiration.  The  Anarchist  at  any  rate  has 
an  ideal.  It  may  be  a  mistaken  ideal,  but  whatever  it  is, 
it  is  a  desperate  effort  to  break  down  a  system  which  anarch- 
ists imagine  is  at  the  root  of  all  the  bribery,  corruption, 
flunkeyism  and  money-grubbing  of  the  world.  Moreover, 
the  Anarchist  carries  his  own  life  in  his  hand,  and  the  risk 
he  runs  can  scarcely  be  for  his  pleasure.  Yet  he  braves 
everything  for  the  '  ideal,'  which  he  fancies,  if  realised,  will 
release  others  from  the  yoke  of  injustice  and  tyranny.  Few 
people  have  any  '  ideals  '  at  all  nowadays ; — what  they  want 
.to  do  is  to  spend  as  much  as  they  like,  and  eat  as  much  as 
they  can.  And  the  newspapers  that  persist  in  chronicling 
the  amount  of  their  expenditure  and  the  extent  of  their 
appetites,  are  the  real  breeders  and  encouragers  of  every 
form  of  anarchy  under  the  sun ! " 

"  You  may  be  right,"  said  Helmsley,  slowly.  "  Indeed  I 
fear  you  are !  If  one  is  to  judge  by  old-time  records,  it 
was  a  kinder,  simpler  world  when  there  was  no  daily  press." 

"  Man  is  an  imitative  animal,"  continued  Reay.  "  The 
deeds  he  hears  of,  whether  good  or  bad,  he  seeks  to  emu- 
late. In  bygone  ages  crime  existed,  of  course,  but  it  was 
not  blazoned  in  headlines  to  the  public.  Good  and  brave 
deeds  were  praised  and  recorded,  and  as  a  consequence — 
perhaps  as  a  result  of  imitation — there  were  many  heroes. 
In  our  times  a  good  or  brave  deed  is  squeezed  into  an 
obscure  paragraph, — while  intellect  and  brilliant  talent  re- 
ceive scarcely  any  acknowledgment — the  silly  doings  of 
'  society '  and  the  Court  are  the  chief  matter, — hence,  pos- 
sibly, the  preponderance  of  dunces  and  flunkeys,  again  pro- 
duced by  sheer  '  imitativeness.'  Is  it  pleasant  for  a  man 
with  starvation  at  his  door,  to  read  that  a  king  pays  two 
thousand  a  year  to  his  cook?  That  same  two  thousand 
comes  out  of  the  pockets  of  the  nation — and  the  starving 


384      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

man  thinks  some  of  it  ought  to  fall  in  his  way  instead  of 
providing  for  a  cooker  of  royal  victuals!  There  is  no  end 
to  the  mischief  generated  by  the  publication  of  such  snob- 
bish statements,  whether  true  or  false.  This  was  the  kind 
of  irresponsible  talk  that  set  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau  think- 
ing and  writing,  and  kindling  the  first  spark  of  the  fire  of 
the  French  Revolution.  '  Royal-Flunkey  '  methods  of  jour- 
nalism provoke  deep  resentment  in  the  public  mind, — for 
a  king  after  all  is  only  the  paid  servant  of  the  people — he 
is  not  an  idol  or  a  deity  to  which  an  independent  nation 
should  for  ever  crook  the  knee.  And  from  the  smouldering 
anger  of  the  million  at  what  they  conceive  to  be  injustice 
and  hypocrisy,  springs  Anarchy." 

"  All  very  well  said, — but  now  suppose  you  were  a  wealthy 
man,  what  would  you  do  with  your  money?"  asked 
Helmsley. 

Angus  smiled. 

"  I  don't  know,  David ! — I've  never  realised  the  position 
yet.  But  I  should  try  to  serve  others  more  than  to  serve 
myself." 

The  conversation  ceased  then,  for  Helmsley  looked  pale 
and  exhausted.  He  had  been  on  the  seashore  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  afternoon,  and  it  was  now  sunset.  Yet  he  was 
very  unwilling  to  return  home,  and  it  was  only  by  gentle 
and  oft-repeated  persuasion  that  he  at  last  agreed  to  leave 
his  well-loved  haunt,  leaning  as  usual  on  Mary's  arm,  with 
Angus  walking  on  the  other  side.  Once  or  twice  as  he 
slowly  ascended  the  village  street  he  paused,  and  looked 
back  at  the  tranquil  loveliness  of  ocean,  glimmering  as  with 
millions  of  rubies  in  the  red  glow  of  the  sinking  sun. 

"  '  And  there  shall  be  no  more  sea ! '  "  he  quoted,  dream- 
ily— "  I  should  be  sorry  if  that  were  true !  One  would  miss 
the  beautiful  sea ! — even  in  heaven !  " 

He  walked  very  feebly,  and  Mary  exchanged  one  or  two 
anxious  glances  with  Angus.  But  on  reaching  the  cottage 
again,  his  spirits  revived.  Seated  in  his  accustomed  chair, 
he  smiled  as  the  little  dog,  Charlie,  jumped  on  his  knee, 
and  peered  with  a  comically  affectionate  gravity  into  his 
face. 

"  Asking  me  how  I  am,  aren't  you,  Charlie !  "  he  said, 
cheerfully — "  I'm  all  right,  wee  man ! — all  right !  " 

Apparently  Charlie  was  not  quite  sure  about  it,  for  he 
declined  to  be  'removed  from  the  position  he  had  chosen, 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   385 

and  snuggling  close  down  on  his  master's  lap,  curled  him- 
self up  in  a  silky  ball  and  went  to  sleep,  now  and  then 
opening  a  soft  dark  eye  to  show  that  his  slumbers  were  not 
so  profound  as  they  seemed. 

That  evening  when  Angus  had  gone,  after  saying  a  pro- 
longed good-night  to  Mary  in  the  little  scented  garden  under 
the  lovely  radiance  of  an  almost  full  moon,  Helmsley  called 
her  to  his  side. 

"  Mary !  " 

She  came  at  once,  and  put  her  arm  around  him.  He 
looked  up  at  her,  smiling. 

"  You  think  I'm  very  tired,  I  know,"  he  said — "  But  I'm 
not.  I — I  want  to  say  a  word  to  you." 

Still  keeping  her  arm  round  him,  she  patted  his  shoulder 
gently. 

"Yes,  David!    What  is  it?" 

"  It  is  just  this.  You  know  I  told  you  I  had  some  papers 
that  I  valued,  locked  away  in  the  little  cupboard  in  my 
room  ?  " 

"  Yes.    I  know." 

"  Well  now, — when — when  I  die — will  you  promise  me 
to  take  these  papers  yourself  to  the  address  that  is  written 
on  them  ?  That's  all  I  ask  of  you !  Will  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will !  "  she  said,  readily — "  You  know 
you've  kept  the  key  yourself  since  you  got  well  from  your 
bad  fever  last  year " 

"  There  is  the  key,"  he  said,  drawing  it  from  his  pocket, 
and  holding  it  up  to  her — "  Take  it  now !  " 

"  But  why  now ?  "  she  began. 

"  Because  I  wish  it !  "  he  answered,  with  a  slight  touch 
of  obstinacy — then,  smiling  rather  wistfully,  he  added,  "  It 
will  comfort  me  to  know  you  have  it  in  your  own  posses- 
sion. And  Mary — promise  me  that  you  will  let  no  one — 
not  even  Angus — see  or  touch  these  papers ! — that  you  will 
take  the  parcel  just  as  you  find  it,  straight  to  the  person 
to  whom  it  is  addressed,  and  deliver  it  yourself  to  him! 
I  don't  want  you  to  swear,  but  I  want  you  to  put  your  dear 
kind  hand  in  mine,  and  say  '  On  my  word  of  honour  I  will 
not  open  the  packet  old  David  has  entrusted  to  me.  When 
he  dies  I  will  take  it  my  own  self  to  the  person  to  whom  it 
is  addressed,  and  wait  till  I  am  told  that  everything  in  it 
has  been  received  and  understood.'  Will  you,  for  my  com- 
fort, say  these  words  after  me,  Mary  ?  " 


386      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Of  course  I  will !  " 

And  placing  her  hand  in  his,  she  repeated  it  slowly  word 
for  word.  He  watched  her  closely  as  she  spoke,  her  eyes 
gazing  candidly  into  his  own.  Then  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear !  That  will  do.  God  bless  you ! 
And  now  to  bed !  " 

He  rose  somewhat  unsteadily,  and  she  saw  he  was  very 
weak. 

"  Don't  you  feel  so  well,  David  ?  "  she  asked,  anxiously. 
"  Would  you  like  me  to  sit  up  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  my  dear,  no !  All  I  want  is  a  good  sleep — a 
good  long  sleep.  I'm  only  tired." 

She  saw  him  into  his  room,  and,  according  to  her  usual 
custom,  put  a  handbell  on  the  small  table  which  was  at  the 
side  of  his  bed.  Charlie,  trotting  at  her  heels,  suddenly 
began  to  whimper.  She  stooped  and  picked  the  little  crea- 
ture up  in  her  arms. 

"  Mind  you  ring  if  you  want  me,"  she  said  to  Helmsley 
then, — "  I'm  just  above  you,  and  I  can  hear  the  least 
sound." 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly.  His  eyes  were  almost  young 
in  their  brightness. 

"  God  bless  you,  Mary !  "  he  said — "  You've  been  a  good 
angel  to  me!  I  never  quite  believed  in  Heaven,  but  look- 
ing at  you  I  know  there  is  such  a  place — the  place  where 
you  were  born !  " 

She  smiled — but  her  eyes  were  soft  with  unshed  tears. 

"  You  think  too  well  of  me,  David,"  she  said.  "  I'm  not 
an  angel — I  wish  I  were!  I'm  only  a  very  poor,  ordinary 
sort  of  woman." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  he  said,  and  smiled — "  Well,  think  so,  if  it 
pleases  you.  Good-night — and  again  God  bless  you !  " 

He  patted  the  tiny  head  of  the  small  Charlie,  whom  she 
held  nestling  against  her  breast. 

"  Good-night,  Charlie !  " 

The  little  dog  licked  his  hand  and  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

"  Don't  part  with  him,  Mary !  "  he  said,  suddenly — "  Let 
him  always  have  a  home  with  you ! " 

"  Now,  David !  You  really  are  tired  out  and  over-melan- 
choly !  As  if  I  should  ever  part  with  him !  "  And  she 
kissed  Charlie's  silky  head — "  We'll  all  keep  together ! 
Good-night,  David !  " 

"  Good-night !  "  he  answered.     He  watched  her  as  she 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   387 

went  through  the  doorway,  holding  the  dog  in  her  arms 
and  turning  back  to  smile  at  him  over  her  shoulder — anon 
he  listened  to  her  footfall  ascending  the  stairway  to  her 
own  room — then,  to  her  gentle  movements  to  and  fro  above 
his  bed — till  presently  all  was  silent.  Silence — except  for 
the  measured  plash  of  the  sea,  which  he  heard  distinctly 
echoing  up  through  the  coombe  from  the  shore.  A  great 
loneliness  environed  him — touched  by  a  great  awe.  He  felt 
himself  to  be  a  solitary  soul  in  the  midst  of  some  vast  desert, 
yet  not  without  the  consciousness  that  a  mystic  joy,  an 
undreamed-of  glory,  was  drawing  near  that  should  make 
that  desert  "  blossom  like  the  rose."  He  moved  slowly  and 
feebly  to  the  window — against  one-half  of  the  latticed  pane 
leaned  a  bunch  of  white  roses,  shining  with  a  soft  pearl 
hue  in  the  light  of  a  lovely  moon. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  world !  "  he  said,  half  aloud — "  No  one 
in  his  right  mind  could  leave  it  without  some  regret ! " 

Then  an  inward  voice  seemed  to  whisper  to  him — 

"  You  knew  nothing  of  this  world  you  call  so  beautiful 
before  you  entered  it ;  may  there  not  be  another  world  still 
more  beautiful  of  which  you  equally  know  nothing,  but  of 
which  you  are  about  to  make  an  experience,  all  life  being  a 
process  of  continuous  higher  progress?" 

And  this  idea  now  not  only  seemed  to  him  possible  but 
almost  a  certainty.  For  as  our  last  Laureate  expresses  it : — 

"  Whatever  crazy  sorrow  saith, 
No  life  that  breathes  with  human  breath 
Has  ever  truly  longed  for  death. 
'Tis  life  whereof  our  nerves  are  scant, 
Oh  life,  not  death,  for  which  we  pant- 
More  life,  and  fuller,  that  I  want ! " 

His  brain  was  so  active  and  his  memory  so  clear  that  he 
was  somewhat  surprised  to  feel  his  body  so  feeble  and 
aching,  when  at  last  he  undressed,  and  lay  down  to  sleep. 
He  thought  of  many  things — of  his  boyhood's  home  out 
in  Virginia — of  the  stress  and  excitement  of  hjs^pusiness 
career — of  his  extraordinary  successes,  piled  toije,,'on  the 
top  of  the  other — and  then  of  the  emptiness  of.^t^ill.! 

"  I  should  have  been  happier  and  wiser,"  he  said,  "  if 
I  had  lived  the  life  of  a  student  in  some  quiet  h'ome  among 
the  hills — where  I  should  have  seen  less  of  men  and  learned 
more  of  God.  But  it  is  too  late  now — too  late  I  " 


388      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

And  a  curious  sorrow  and  pity  moved  him  for  certain 
men  he  knew  who  were  eating  up  the  best  time  of  their 
lives  in  a  mad  struggle  for  money,  losing  everything  of  real 
value  in  their  scramble  for  what  was,  after  all,  so  valueless, 
— sacrificing  peace,  honour,  love,  and  a  quiet  mind,  for 
what  in  the  eternal  countings  is  of  no  more  consideration 
than  the  dust  of  the  highroad.  Not  what  a  man  has,  but 
what  he  is, — this  is  the  sole  concern  of  Divine  Equity. 
Earthly  ideas  of  justice  are  in  direct  opposition  to  this  law, 
but  the  finite  can  never  overbalance  the  infinite.  We  may, 
if  we  so  please,  honour  a  king  as  king, — but  with  God  there 
are  no  kings.  There  are  only  Souls,  "  made  in  His  image." 
And  whosoever  defaces  that  Divine  Image,  whether  he 
be  base-born  churl  or  crowned  potentate,  must  answer  for 
the  wicked  deed.  How  many  of  us  view  our  social  ac- 
quaintances from  any  higher  standard  than  the  extent  of 
their  cash  accounts,  or  the  "  usefulness "  of  their  influ- 
ence? Yet  the  inexorable  Law  works  silently  on, — and 
day  after  day,  century  after  century,  shows  us  the  vanity 
of  riches,  the  fall  of  pride  and  power,  the  triumph  of 
genius,  the  immutability  of  love!  And  we  are  still  turning 
over  the  well-worn  pages  of  the  same  old  school-book  which 
was  set  before  Tyre  and  Sidon,  Carthage  and  Babylon — 
the  same,  the  very  same,  with  one  saving  exception — that 
a  Divine  Teacher  came  to  show  us  how  to  spell  it  and  read 
it  aright — and  He  was  crucified !  Doubtless  were  He  to 
come  again  and  once  more  try  to  help  us,  we  should  re-enact 
that  old-time  Jewish  murder ! 

Lying  quietly  in  his  bed,  Helmsley  conversed  with  his 
inner  self,  as  it  were,  reasoning  with  his  own  human  per- 
plexities and  gradually  unravelling  them.  After  all,  if  his 
life  had  been,  as  he  considered,  only  a  lesson,  was  it  not 
good  for  him  that  he  had  learned  that  lesson?  A  passing 
memory  of  Lucy  Sorrel  flitted  across  his  brain — and  he 
thought  how  singular  it  was  that  chance  should  have  brought 
him  into  touch  with  the  very  man  who  would  have  given 
her  that  "  rose  of  love  "  he  desired  she  should  wear,  had 
she  realised  the  value  and  beauty  of  that  immortal  flower. 
He,  David  Helmsley,  had  been  apparently  led  by  devious 
ways,  not  only  to  find  an  unselfish  love  for  himself,  but 
also  to  be  the  instrument  of  atoning  to  Angus  Reay  for  his 
first  love-disappointment,  and  uniting  him  to  a  woman 
whose  exquisitely  tender  and  faithful  nature  was  bound  to 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   389 

make  the  joy  and  sanctity  of  his  life.  In  this,  had  not  all 
things  been  ordered  well?  Did  it  not  seem  that,  notwith- 
standing- his,  Helmsley's,  self-admitted  worthlessness,  the 
Divine  Power  had  used  him  for  the  happiness  of  others, 
to  serve  as  a  link  of  love  between  two  deserving  souls? 
He  began  to  think  that  it  was  not  by  chance  that  he  had 
been  led  to  wander  away  from  the  centre  of  his  business 
interests,  and  lose  himself  on  the  hills  above  Weircombe. 
Not  accident,  but  a  high  design  had  been  hidden  in 
this  incident — a  design  in  which  Self  had  been  trans- 
formed to  Selflessness,  and  loneliness  to  love.  "  I  should 
like  to  believe  in  God — if  I  could ! "  This  he  had 
said  to  his  friend  Vesey,  on  the  last  night  he  had  seen  him. 
And  now — did  he  believe  ?  Yes  ! — for  he  had  benefited  by 
his  first  experience  of  what  a  truly  God-like  love  may  be 
— the  love  of  a  perfectly  unselfish,  tender,  devout  woman 
who,  for  no  motive  at  all,  but  simply  out  of  pure  goodness 
and  compassion  for  sorrow  and  suffering,  had  rescued  one 
whom  she  judged  to  be  in  need  of  help.  If  therefore  God 
could  make  one  poor  woman  so  divinely  forbearing  and 
gentle,  it  was  certain  that  He,  from  whom  all  Love  must 
emanate,  was  yet  more  merciful  than  the  most  merciful 
woman,  as  well  as  stronger  than  the  strongest  man.  And 
he  believed — believed  implicitly; — lifted  to  the  height  of 
a  perfect  faith  by  the  help  of  a  perfect  love.  In  the  mirror 
of  one  sweet  and  simple  human  character  he  had  seen  the 
face  of  God — and  he  was  of  the  same  mind  as  the  mighty 
musician  who,  when  he  was  dying,  cried  out  in  rapture — 
"  I  believe  I  am  only  at  the  Beginning !  "  *  He  was  con- 
scious of  a  strange  dual  personality, — some  spirit  within 
him  urgently  expressed  itself  as  being  young,  clamorous, 
inquisitive,  eager,  and  impatient  of  restraint,  while  his  nat- 
ural bodily  self  was  so  weary  and  feeble  that  he  felt  as  if 
he  could  scarcely  move  a  hand.  He  listened  for  a  little 
while  to  the  ticking  of  the  clock  in  the  kitchen  which  was 
next  to  his  room, — and  by  and  by,  being  thoroughly  drowsy, 
he  sank  into  a  heavy  slumber.  He  did  not  know  that  Mary, 
anxious  about  him,  had  not  gone  to  bed  at  all,  but  had 
resolved  to  sit  up  all  night  in  case  he  should  call  her  or 
want  for  anything.  But  the  hours  wore  on  peacefully  for 
him  till  the  moon  began  her  downward  course  towards  the 
west,  and  the  tide  having  rolled  in  to  its  highest  mark, 
began  to  ebb  and  flow  out  again.  Then — all  at  once — he 

*  Beethoven. 


890      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

awoke — smitten  by  a  shock  of  pain  that  seemed  to  crash 
through  his  heart  and  send  his  brain  swirling  into  a  blind 
chaos.  Struggling  for  breath,  he  sprang  up  in  his  bed,  and 
instinctively  snatched  the  handbell  at  his  side.  He  was 
hardly  aware  of  ringing  it,  so  great  was  his  agony — but 
presently,  regaining  a  glimmering  sense  of  consciousness, 
he  found  Mary's  arms  round  him,  and  saw  Mary's  eyes 
looking  tenderly  into  his  own. 

"  David,  dear  David !  "  And  the  sweet  voice  was  shaken 
by  tears.  "  David ! — Oh,  my  poor  dear,  don't  you  know 
me?" 

Know  her?  In  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  what  other 
Angel  could  there  be  so  faithful  or  so  tender!  He  sighed, 
leaning  heavily  against  her  bosom. 

"  Yes,  dear — I  know  you !  "  he  gasped,  faintly.  "  But — 
I  am  very  ill — dying,  I  think !  Open  the  window — give  me 
air!" 

She  laid  his  head  gently  back  on  the  pillow,  and  ran 
quickly  to  throw  open  the  lattice.  In  that  same  moment, 
the  dog  Charlie,  who  had  followed  her  downstairs  from  her 
room,  jumped  on  the  bed,  and  finding  his  master's  hand 
lying  limp  and  pallid  outside  the  coverlet,  fawned  upon  it 
with  a  plaintive  cry.  The  cool  sea-air  rushed  in,  and 
Helmsley's  sinking  strength  revived.  He  turned  his  eyes 
gratefully  towards  the  stream  of  silvery  moonlight  that 
poured  through  the  open  casement. 

"  '  Angels  ever  bright  and  fair ! '  "  he  murmured — then 
as  Mary  came  back  to  his  side,  he  smiled  vaguely ;  "  I 
thought  I  heard  my  little  sister  singing !  " 

Slipping  her  arm  again  under  his  head,  she  carefully 
administered  a  dose  of  the  cordial  which  had  been  made  up 
for  him  as  a  calmative  against  his  sudden  heart  attacks. 

He  swallowed  it  slowly  and  with  difficulty. 

"  I'm — I'm  all  right,"  he  said,  feebly.  "  The  pain  has 
gone.  I'm  sorry  to  have  wakened  you  up,  Mary! — but 
you're  always  kind  and  patient " 

His  voice  broke — and  a  grey  pallor  began  to  steal  almost 
imperceptibly  upwards  over  his  wasted  features.  She 
watched  him,  her  heart  beating  fast  with  grief  and  terror, 
— the  tears  rushing  to  her  eyes  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to 
restrain  them.  For  she  saw  that  he  was  dying.  The  sol- 
emnly musical  plash  of  the  sea  sounded  rhythmically  upon 
the  quiet  air  like  the  soothing  murmur  of  a  loving  mother's 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   SQI 

lullaby,  and  the  radiance  of  the  moonlight  flooded  the  little 
room  with  mystical  glory.  In  her  womanly  tenderness 
she  drew  him  more  protectingly  into  the  embrace  of  her 
kind  arm,  as  though  seeking  to  hold  him  back  from  the 
abyss  of  the  Unknown,  and  held  his  head  close  against 
her  breast  He  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  her  thus  bending 
over  him.  A  smile  brightened  his  face — a  smile  of  youth, 
and  hope,  and  confidence. 

'*  The  end  is  near,  Mary ! "  he  said  in  a  clear,  calm 
voice ;  "  but — it's  not  difficult !  There  is  no  pain.  And 
you  are  with  me.  That  is  enough ! — that  is  more  than  I 
ever  hoped  for ! — more  than  I  deserve !  God  bless  you 
always !  " 

He  shut  his  eyes  again — but  opened  them  quickly  in  a 
sudden  struggle  for  breath. 

"The  papers!"  he  gasped.  "Mary — Mary — you  won't 
forget — your  promise !  " 

"  No,  David ! — dear  David !  "  she  sobbed.  "  I  won't 
forget!" 

The  paroxysm  passed,  and  his  hand  wandered  over  the 
coverlet,  where  it  encountered  the  soft,  crouching  head 
of  the  little  dog  who  was  lying  close  to  him,  shivering  in 
every  limb. 

"  Why,  here's  Charlie !  "  he  whispered,  weakly.  "  Poor 
wee  Charlie !  '  Take  care  of  me '  is  written  on  his  collar. 
Mary  will  take  care  of  you,  Charlie! — good-bye,  little 
man !  " 

He  lay  quiet  then,  but  his  eyes  were  wide  open,  gazing 
not  upward,  but  straight  ahead,  as  though  they  saw  some 
wondrous  vision  in  the  little  room. 

"  Strange ! — strange  that  I  did  not  know  all  this  before !  " 
he  murmured — and  then  was  silent,  still  gazing  straight 
before  him.  All  at  once  a  great  shudder  shook  his  body 
— and  his  thin  features  grew  suddenly  pinched  and  wan. 

"  It  is  almost  morning !  "  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  like 
an  echo  of  itself  from  very  far  away.  "  The  sun  will  rise 
— but  I  shall  not  be  here  to  see  the  sun  or  you,  Mary !  " 
and  rallying  his  fast  ebbing  strength  he  turned  towards  her. 
"  Keep  your  arms  about  me ! — pray  for  me ! — God  will  hear 
you — God  must  hear  His  own!  Don't  cry,  dear!  Kiss 
me!  " 

She  kissed  him,  clasping  his  poor  frail  form  to  her  heart 
as  though  he  were  a  child,  and  tenderly  smoothing  back 


392      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

his  venerable  snow-white  hair.  A  slumbrous  look  of  per- 
fect peace  softened  the  piteousness  of  his  dying  eyes. 

"  The  only  treasure ! "  he  murmured,  faintly.  "  The 
treasure  of  Heaven — Love!  God  bless  you  for  giving  it 
to  me,  Mary ! — good-bye,  my  dear !  " 

"  Not  good-bye,  David !  "  she  cried.  "  No — not  good- 
bye!" 

"  Yes — good-bye !  "  he  said, — and  then,  as  another  strong 
shudder  convulsed  him,  he  made  a  last  feeble  effort  to  lay 
his  head  against  her  bosom.  "  Don't  let  me  go,  Mary ! 
Hold  me  ! — closer ! — closer !  Your  heart  is  warm,  ah,  so 
warm,  Mary ! — and  death  is  cold — cold !  " 

Another  moment — and  the  moonlight,  streaming  through 
the  open  window,  fell  on  the  quiet  face  of  a  dead  man. 
Then  came  silence — broken  only  by  the  gentle  murmur  of 
the  sea,  and  the  sound  of  a  woman's  weeping. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

NOT  often  is  the  death  of  a  man,  who  to  all  appearances 
was  nothing  more  than  a  "  tramp,"  attended  by  any  dem- 
onstrations of  sorrow.  There  are  so  many  "  poor  "  men ! 
The  roads  are  infested  with  them.  It  would  seem,  in  fact, 
that  they  have  no  business  to  live  at  all,  especially  when  they 
are  old,  and  can  do  little  or  nothing  to  earn  their  bread. 
Such,  generally  and  roughly  speaking,  is  the  opinion  of 
the  matter-of-fact  world.  Nevertheless,  the  death  of  "  old 
David  "  created  quite  an  atmosphere  of  mourning  in  Weir- 
combe,  though,  had  it  been  known  that  he  was  one  of  the 
world's  famous  millionaires,  such  kindly  regret  and  com- 
passion might  have  been  lacking.  As  things  were,  he 
carried  his  triumph  of  love  to  the  grave  with  him.  Mary's 
grief  for  the  loss  of  the  gentle  old  man  was  deep  and 
genuine,  and  Angus  Reay  shared  it  with  her  to  the  full. 

"  I  shall  miss  him  so  much !  "  she  sobbed,  looking  at  the 
empty  chair,  which  had  been  that  of  her  own  father.  "  He 
was  always  so  kind  and  thoughtful  for  me — never  wishing 
to  give  trouble ! — poor  dear  old  David ! — and  he  did  so 
hope  to  see  us  married,  Angus! — you  know  it  was  through 
him  that  we  knew  each  other !  " 

"  I  know !  " — and  Angus,  profoundly  moved,  was  not 
ashamed  of  the  tears  in  his  own  eyes — "  God  bless  him ! 
He  was  a  dear,  good  old  fellow!  But,  Mary,  you  must 
not  fret;  he  would  not  like  to  see  your  pretty  eyes  all 
red  with  weeping.  This  life  was  getting  very  difficult  for 
him,  remember, — he  endured  a  good  deal  of  pain.  Bunce 
says  he  must  have  suffered  acutely  often  without  saying  a 
word  about  it,  lest  you  should  be  anxious.  He  is  at  rest 
now." 

"  Yes,  he  is  at  rest !  " — and  Mary  struggled  to  repress 
her  tears — "  Come  and  see !  " 

Hand  in  hand  they  entered  the  little  room  where  the  dead 
man  lay,  covered  with  a  snowy  sheet,  his  waxen  hands 
crossed  peacefully  outside  it,  and  delicate  clusters  of  white 
roses  and  myrtle  laid  here  and  there  around  him.  His 
face  was  like  a  fine  piece  of  sculptured  marble  in  its  still 

393 


394      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

repose — the  gravity  and  grandeur  of  death  had  hallowed  the 
worn  features  of  old  age,  and  given  them  a  great  sweet- 
ness and  majesty.  The  two  lovers  stood  gazing  at  the 
corpse  for  a  moment  in  silent  awe — then  Mary  whispered 
softly — 

"  He  seems  only  asleep !    And  he  looks  happy." 

"  He  is  happy,  dear ! — he  must  be  happy !  " — and  Angus 
drew  her  gently  away.  "  Poor  and  helpless  as  he  was, 
still  he  found  a  friend  in  you  at  the  last,  and  now  all  his 
troubles  are  over.  He  has  gone  to  Heaven  with  the  help 
and  blessing  of  your  kind  and  tender  heart,  my  Mary!  I 
am  sure  of  that !  " 

She  sighed,   and  her  eyes  were  clouded  with  sadness. 

"  Heaven  seems  very  far  away  sometimes !  "  she  said. 
"  And — often  I  wonder — what  is  Heaven  ?  " 

"  Love !  "  he  answered — "  Love  made  perfect — Love  that 
knows  no  change  and  no  end !  '  Nothing  is  sweeter  than 
love;  nothing  stronger,  nothing  higher,  nothing  broader, 
nothing  more  pleasant,  nothing  fuller  or  better  in  heaven 
and  in  earth,  for  love  is  born  of  God,  and  can  rest  only 
in  God  above  all  things  created.'  " 

He  quoted  the  beautiful  words  from  the  Imitation  of 
Christ  reverently  and  tenderly. 

"  Is  that  not  true,  my  Mary  ?  "  he  said,  kissing  her. 

"  Yes,  Angus !  For  us  I  know  it  is  true ! — I  wish  it 
were  true  for  all  the  world !  " 

And  then  there  came  a  lovely  day,  perfectly  brilliant  and 
intensely  calm,  on  which  "  old  David,"  was  quietly  buried 
in  the  picturesque  little  churchyard  of  Weircombe.  Mary 
and  Angus  together  had  chosen  his  resting-place,  a  grassy 
knoll  swept  by  the  delicate  shadows  of  a  noble  beech-tree, 
and  facing  the  blue  expanse  of  the  ocean.  Every  man 
who  had  known  and  talked  with  him  in  the  village  offered 
to  contribute  to  the  expenses  of  his  funeral,  which,  how- 
ever, were  very  slight.  The  good  Vicar  would  accept  no 
burial  fee,  and  all  who  knew  the  story  of  the  old  "  tramp's  " 
rescue  from  the  storm  by  Mary  Deane,  and  her  gentle 
care  of  him  afterwards,  were  anxious  to  prove  that  they 
too  were  not  destitute  of  that  pure  and  true  charity  which 
"  suffereth  long  and  is  kind."  Had  David  Helmsley  been 
buried  as  David  Helmsley  the  millionaire,  it  is  more  than 
likely  that  he  might  not  have  had  one  sincere  mourner 
at  his  grave,  with  the  exception  of  his  friend,  Sir  Francis 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   395 

Vesey,  and  his  valet  Benson.  There  would  have  been  a 
few  "  business  "  men, — and  some  empty  carriages  belong- 
ing to  fashionable  folk  sent  out  of  so-called  "  respect " ; 
but  of  the  many  he  had  entertained,  assisted  and  benefited, 
not  one  probably  would  have  taken  the  trouble  to  pay  him 
so  much  as  a  last  honour.  As  the  poor  tramping  old 
basket-maker,  whose  failing  strength  would  not  allow  him 
to  earn  much  of  a  living,  his  simple  funeral  was  attended 
by  nearly  a  whole  village, — honest  men  who  stood  respect- 
fully bare-headed  as  the  coffin  was  lowered  into  the  grave 
— kind-hearted  women  who  wept  for  "  poor  lonely  soul  " 
— as  they  expressed  it, — and  little  children  who  threw  knots 
of  flowers  into  that  mysterious  dark  hole  in  the  ground 
"  where  people  went  to  sleep  for  a  little,  and  then  came 
out  again  as  angels  " — as  their  parents  told  them.  It  was 
a  simple  ceremony,  performed  in  a  spirit  of  perfect  piety, 
and  without  any  hypocrisy  or  formality.  And  when  it  was  all 
over,  and  the  villagers  had  dispersed  to  their  homes,  Mr. 
Twitt  on  his  way  "  down  street,"  as  he  termed  it,  from  the 
churchyard,  paused  at  Mary  Deane's  cottage  to  unburden 
his  mind  of  a  weighty  resolution. 

"  Ye  see,  Mis'  Deane,  it's  like  this,"  he  said — "  I  as  good 
as  promised  the  poor  old  gaffer  as  I'd  do  'im  a  tombstone 
for  nuthin',  an'  I'm  'ere  to  say  as  I  aint  a-goin'  back  on 
that.  But  I  must  take  my  time  on  it.  I'd  like  to  think  out 
a  speshul  hepitaph — an'  doin'  portry  takes  a  bit  of  'ard 
brain  work.  So  when  the  earth's  set  down  on  'is  grave  a 
bit,  an'  the  daisies  is  a-growin'  on  the  grass,  I'll  mebbe 
'ave  got  an  idea  wot'll  please  ye.  'E  aint  left  any  mossel 
o'  paper  writ  out  like,  with  wot  'e'd  like  put  on  'im,  I 
s'pose  ?  " 

Mary  felt  the  colour  rush  to  her  face. 

"  N— no !  Not  that  I  know  of,  Mr.  Twitt,"  she  said. 
"  He  has  left  a  few  papers  which  I  promised  him  I  would 
take  to  a  friend  of  his,  but  I  haven't  even  looked  at  them 
yet,  and  don't  know  to  whom  they  are  addressed.  If  I 
find  anything  I'll  let  you  know." 

"  Ay,  do  so !  "  and  Twitt  rubbed  his  chin  meditatively. 
"  I  wouldn't  run  agin'  'is  wishes  for  anything  if  ser  be 
I  can  carry  'em  out.  I  considers  as  'e  wor  a  very  fine 
sort — gentle  as  a  lamb,  an'  grateful  for  all  wot  was  done 
for  'im,  an'  I  wants  to  be  as  friendly  to  'im  in  'is  death  as 
I  wos  in  'is  life — ye  understand?" 


396      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

"  Yes — I  know — I  quite  understand,"  said  Mary.  "  But 
there's  plenty  of  time " 

"  Yes,  there's  plenty  of  time ! "  agreed  Twitt.  "  But, 
lor/  if  you  could  only  know  what  a  pain  it  gives  me  in 
the  'ed  to  work  the  portry  out  of  it,  ye  wouldn't  wonder 
at  my  preparin'  ye,  as  'twere.  Onny  I  wishes  ye  just  to 
understand  that  it'll  all  be  done  for  love — an'  no  charge." 

Mary  thanked  him  smiling,  yet  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  he  strolled  away  down  the  street  in  his  usual  slow  and 
somewhat  casual  manner. 

That  evening, — the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  all  that 
was  mortal  of  "  old  David  "  had  been  committed  to  the 
gentle  ground,  Mary  unlocked  the  cupboard  of  which  he 
had  given  her  the  key  on  the  last  night  of  his  life,  and 
took  out  the  bulky  packet  it  contained.  She  read  the 
superscription  with  some  surprise  and  uneasiness.  It  was 
addressed  to  a  Mr.  Bulteel,  in  a  certain  street  near  Chan- 
cery Lane,  London.  Now  Mary  had  never  been  to  London 
in  her  life.  The  very  idea  of  going  to  that  vast  unknown 
metropolis  half  scared  her,  and  she  sat  for  some  minutes, 
with  the  sealed  packet  in  her  lap,  quite  confused  and  troubed. 

"  Yet  I  made  the  promise !  "  she  said  to  herself — "  And 
I  dare  not  break  it !  I  must  go.  And  I  must  not  tell  Angus 
anything  about  it — that's  the  worst  part  of  all !  " 

She  gazed  wistfully  at  the  packet, — anon  she  turned  it 
over  and  over.  It  was  sealed  in  several  places — but  the 
seal  had  no  graven  impress,  the  wax  having  merely  been 
pressed  with  the  ringer. 

"  I  must  go !  "  she  repeated.  "  I'm  bound  to  deliver  it 
myself  to  the  man  for  whom  it  is  intended.  But  what  a 
journey  it  will  be !  To  London !  " 

Absorbed  in  thought,  she  started  as  a  tap  came  at  the 
cottage  door, — and  rising,  she  hurriedly  put  the  package  out 
of  sight,  just  as  Angus  entered. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  as  he  came  towards  her — "  Do  you 
know,  I've  been  thinking  we  had  better  get  quietly  married 
as  soon  as  possible?" 

She  smiled. 

"  Why?    Is  the  book  finished?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  it  isn't.  I  wish  it  was !  But  it  will  be  finished  in 
another  month " 

"  Then  let  us  wait  that  other  month,"  she  said.  "  You 
will  be  happier,  I  know,  if  the  work  is  off  your  mind." 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   397 

"  Yes — I  shall  be  happier — but  Mary,  I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  you  all  alone  in  this  little  cottage " 

She  gently  interrupted  him. 

"  I  was  all  alone  for  five  years  after  my  father  died,"  she 
said.  "  And  though  I  was  sometimes  a  little  sad,  I  was 
not  dull,  because  I  always  had  work  to  do.  Dear  old  David 
was  a  good  companion,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  take  care 
of  him — indeed,  this  last  year  has  been  quite  a  happy  one 
for  me,  and  I  shan't  find  it  hard  to  live  alone  in  the  cottage 
for  just  a  month  now.  Don't  worry  about  me,  Angus  !'r 

He  stooped  and  picked  up  Charlie,  who,  since  his  mas- 
ter's death,  had  been  very  dispirited. 

"  You  see,  Mary,"  he  said,  as  he  fondled  the  little  dog" 
and  stroked  its  silky  hair — "  nothing  will  alter  the  fact 
that  you  are  richer  than  I  am.  You  do  regular  work  for 
which  you  get  regular  pay — now  I  have  no  settled  work  at 
all,  and  not  much  chance  of  pay,  even  for  the  book  on 
which  I've  been  spending  nearly  a  year  of  my  time.  You've 
got  a  house  which  you  can  keep  going — and  very  soon  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  afford  so  much  as  a  room! — think  of 
that !  And  yet — I  have  the  impertinence  to  ask  you  to  marry 
me!  Forgive  me,  dear!  It  is,  as  you  say,  better  to  wait." 

She  came  and  entwined  her  arms  about  him. 

"  I'll  wait  a  month,"  she  said — "  No  longer,  Angus !  By 
that  time,  if  you  don't  marry  me,  I  shall  summons  you  for 
breach  of  promise !  " 

She  smiled — but  he  still  remained  thoughtful. 

"  Angus ! "  she  said  suddenly — "  I  want  to  tell  you — I 
shall  have  to  go  away  from  Weircombe  for  a  day — perhaps 
two  days." 

He  looked  surprised. 

"  Go  away !  "  he  echoed.    "  What  for?    Where  to?  " 

She  told  him  then  of  "  old  David's  "  last  request  to  her, 
and  of  the  duty  she  had  undertaken  to  perform. 

He  listened  gravely. 

"  You  must  do  it,  of  course,"  he  said.  "  But  will  you 
have  to  travel  far?" 

"  Some  distance  from  Weircombe,"  she  answered, 
evasively. 

"  May  I  not  go  with  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  hesitated. 

"  I  promised "  she  began. 

"And  you  shall  not  break  your  word,"  he  said,  kissing 


THE     TREASURE     OF     H  E  ATE  NT 

her.  "  You  are  so  true,  my  Mary,  that  I  wouldn't  tempt 
you  to  change  one  word  or  even  half  a  word  of  what:  you 
have  said  to  any  one,  living  or  dead.  Wheni  do>  yoir  want 
to^take  this  journey?" 

"To-morrow,  or  the  next  day,"  she  said.  "I'll  asfrMrs, 
Twitt  to  see  to  the  house  and  look  after  Charlie^  and;  I'll 
be  back  again  as  quickly  as  I  can.  Because,  when  I've  given. 
the  papers  over  to  David's  friend,  whoever  he-  isy  I  shall. 
have  nothing  more  to  do  but  just  come  home." 

This  being  settled,  it  was  afterwards  determined  that  the- 
next  day  but  one  would  be  the  most  convenient  for  her  to) 
go,  as  she  could  then  avail  herself  of  the  canrier?s.  cart; 
-.to  take  her  as*  far  as  Minehead.  But  she:  was  not  allowed-  to- 
-start;  on  b^r  unexpected  travels  without  a  burst  o£  prophecy 


. 

.  '  'As  I've  said  an'  allus  thought,'*  said  that  estimable- 
lady  —  "  Old  David  'ad  suthin'  'idden>  In  'is  'art  wot  'e  never 
giv'  away  to  nobody.  Mark  my  words,  Mis'  Deane-  !:  —  '& 
'ad  a  sin  or  a  sorrer  at  the  back  oi  'im,  an'  whichever  it  do 
turn  out  to  be  I'm  not  a-goin'  to  blame  'im  either  way,,  for 
bein'  dead  'e's  dead,  an'  them  as  sez  unkind  o'  the  dead  is  apt 
to  be  picked  morsels  for  the  devil's  gridiron.  But  now  that 
you've  got  a  packet  to  take  to  old  David's,  friends  some- 
wheres,  you  may  take  my  word  for  't,  Mis'  Deane,  you'll 
find  out  as  'e  was  wot  ye  didn't  expect.  Onny  last  night, 
as  I  was  a-sittin'  afore  the  kitchen  fire,  for  though  bein* 
summer  I'm  that  chilly  that  I  feels  the  least  change  in  the 
temper  o'  the  sea,  —  as  I  was  a-sittin',  I  say,  out  jumps 
a  cinder  as  long  as  a  pine  cone,  red  an'  glowin*  like  a 
candle  at  the  end.  An'  I  stares  at  the  thing,  an'  I  sez: 
'  That's  either  a  purse  o'  money,  or  a  journey  with  a  coffin 
at  the  end  '  —  an'  the  thing  burns  an'  shines  like  a  reg'lar 
spark  of  old  Nick's  cookin'  stove,  an'  though  I  pokes  an' 
pokes  it,  it  won't  go  out,  but  lies  on  the  'erth,  frizzlin'  all 
the  time.  An'  I  do  'ope,  Mis'  Deane,  as  now  yer  goin.' 
off  to  'and  over  old  David's  effecks  to  the  party  interested, 
ye'll  come  back  safe,  for  the  poor  old  dear  'adn't  a  penny 
to  bless  'isself  with,  so  the  cinder  must  mean  the  jour- 
ney, an'  bein'  warned,  ye'll  guard  agin  the  coffin  at  the 
end." 

Mary  smiled  rather  sadly. 

"  I'll  take  care  !  "  she  said.    "  But  I  don't  think  anything 
very  serious  is  likely  to  happen.     Poor  old  David  had  no 


friends, — and  probably  the  few  papers  he  has  left  are  only 
for  some  relative  who  would  not  do  anything  for  him  while 
he  was  alive,  but  who,  all  the  same,  has  to  be  told  that 
he  is  dead." 

"  Maybe  so ! "  and  Mrs.  Twitt  nodded  her  head  pro- 
foundly— "  But  that  cinder  worn't  made  in  the  fire  for  nowt ! 
Such  a  shape  as  'twas  don't  grow  out  of  the  flames  twice 
in  twenty  year !  " 

And,  with  the  conviction  of  the  village  prophetess  she 
assumed  to  be,  she  was  not  to  be  shaken  from  the  idea  that 
strange  discoveries  were  pending  respecting  "  old  David." 
Mary  herself  could  not  quite  get  rid  of  a  vague  misgiving 
and  anxiety,  which  culminated  at  last  in  her  determination 
to  show  Angus  Reay  the  packet  left  in  her  charge,  in  order 
that  he  might  see  to  whom  it  was  addessed. 

"  For  that  can  do  no  harm,"  she  thought — "  I  feel  that 
he  really  ought  to  know  that  I  have  to  go  all  the  way  to 
London." 

Angus,  however,  on  reading  the  superscription,  was  fully 
as  perplexed  as  she  was.  He  was  familiar  with  the  street 
near  Chancery  Lane  where  the  mysterious  "  Mr.  Bulteel  " 
lived,  but  the  name  of  Bulteel  as  a  resident  in  that  street 
was  altogether  unknown  to  him.  Presently  a  bright  idea 
struck  him. 

"  I  have  it ! "  he  said.  "  Look  here,  Mary,  didn't  David 
say  he  used  to  be  employed  in  office-work  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered, — "  He  had  to  give  up  his  situation, 
so  I  understand,  on  account  of  old  age." 

"  Then  that  makes  it  clear,"  Angus  declared.  "  This  Mr. 
Bulteel  is  probably  a  man  who  worked  with  him  in  the  same 
office — perhaps  the  only  link  he  had  with  his  past  life.  I 
think  you'll  find  that's  the  way  it  will  turn  out.  But  I  hate 
to  think  of  your  travelling  to  London  all  alone! — for  the 
first  time  in  your  life,  too !  " 

"  Oh  well,  that  doesn't  matter  much !  "  she  said,  cheer- 
fully,— "  Now  that  you  know  where  I  am  going,  it's  all 
right.  You  forget,  Angus! — I'm  quite  old  enough  to  take 
care  of  myself.  How  many  times  must  I  remind  you  that 
you  are  engaged  to  be  married  to  an  old  maid  of  thirty-five  ? 
You  treat  me  as  if  I  were  quite  a  young  girl !  " 

"  So  I  do— and  so  I  will !  "  and  his  eyes  rested  upon 
her  with  a  proud  look  of  admiration.  "  For  you  are  young, 
Mary — young  in  your  heart  and  soul  and  nature — younger 


400      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

than  any  so-called  young-  girl  I  ever  met,  and  twenty  times 
more  beautiful.  So  there !  " 

She  smiled  gravely. 

"  You  are  easily  satisfied,  Angus,"  she  said — "  But  the 
world  will  not  agree  with  you  in  your  ideas  of  me.  And 
when  you  become  a  famous  man " 

"  If  I  become  a  famous  man "  he  interrupted. 

"  No — not  '  if  ' — I  say  '  when, '  "  she  repeated.  "  When 
you  become  a  famous  man,  people  will  say,  '  what  a  pity  he 
did  not  marry  some  one  younger  and  more  suited  to  his 
position " 

She  could  speak  no  more,  for  Angus  silenced  her  with 
a  kiss. 

"  Yes,  what  a  pity  it  will  be !  "  he  echoed.  "  What  a 
pity !  When  other  men,  less  fortunate,  see  that  I  have  won 
a  beautiful  and  loving  wife,  whose  heart  is  all  my  own, — 
who  is  pure  and  true  as  the  sun  in  heaven, — '  what  a  pity/ 
they  will  say,  '  that  we  are  not  so  lucky ! '  That's  what  the 
talk  will  be,  Mary !  For  there's  no  man  on  earth  who  does 
not  crave  to  be  loved  for  himself  alone — a  selfish  wish,  per- 
haps— but  it's  implanted  in  every  son  of  Adam.  And  a 
man's  life  is  always  more  or  less  spoilt  by  lack  of  the  love 
he  needs." 

She  put  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  her  true  eyes  looked 
straightly  into  his  own. 

"  Your  life  will  not  be  spoilt  that  way,  dear !  "  she  said. 
"  Trust  me  for  that !  " 

"  Do  I  not  know  it !  "  he  answered,  passionately.  "  And 
would  I  not  lose  the  whole  world,  with  all  its  chances  of 
fame  and  fortune,  rather  than  lose  you!" 

And  in  their  mutual  exchange  of  tenderness  and  Con- 
fidence they  forgot  all  save 

"  The  time  and  place 
And  the  loved  one  all  together ! " 

It  was  a  perfect  summer's  morning  when  Mary,  for  the 
first  time  in  many  years,  left  her  little  home  in  Weircombe 
and  started  upon  a  journey  she  had  never  taken  and  never 
had  thought  of  taking — a  journey  which,  to  her  unsophisti- 
cated mind,  seemed  fraught  with  strange  possibilities  of 
difficulty,  even  of  peril.  London  had  loomed  upon  her 
horizon  through  the  medium  of  the  daily  newspaper,  as  a 
vast  over-populated  city  where  (if  she  might  believe  the 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   401 

press)  humanity  is  more  selfish  than  generous,  more  cruel 
than  kind, — where  bitter  poverty  and  starvation  are  seen 
side  by  side  with  criminal  extravagance  and  luxury, — and 
where,  according  to  her  simple  notions,  the  people  were  for- 
getting or  had  forgotten  God.  It  was  with  a  certain  linger- 
ing and  wistful  backward  look  that  she  left  her  little  cottage 
embowered  among  roses,  and  waved  farewell  to  Mrs.  Twitt, 
who,  standing  at  the  garden  gate  with  Charlie  in  her  arms, 
waved  hearty  response,  cheerfully  calling  out  "  Good 
Luck !  "  after  her,  and  adding  the  further  assurance — "  Ye'll 
find  everything  as  well  an'  straight  as  ye  left  it  when  ye 
comes  'ome,  please  God !  " 

Angus  Reay  accompanied  her  in  the  carrier's  cart  to 
Minehead,  and  there  she  caught  the  express  to  London.  On 
enquiry,  she  found  there  was  a  midnight  train  which 
would  bring  her  back  from  the  metropolis  at  about  nine 
o'clock  the  next  morning,  and  she  resolved  to  travel  home 
by  it. 

"  You  will  be  so  tired !  "  said  Angus,  regretfully.  "  And 
yet  I  would  rather  you  did  not  stay  away  a  moment  longer 
than  you  can  help !  " 

"  Don't  fear ! "  and  she  smiled.  "  You  cannot  be  a  bit 
more  anxious  for  me  to  come  back  than  I  am  to  come  back 
myself !  Good-bye !  It's  only  for  a  day !  " 

She  waved  her  hand  as  the  train  steamed  out  of  the  sta- 
tion, and  he  watched  her  sweet  face  smiling  at  him  to  the 
very  last,  when  the  express,  gathering  speed,  rushed  away 
with  her  and  whirled  her  into  the  far  distance.  A  great 
depression  fell  upon  his  soul, — all  the  light  seemed  gone  out 
of  the  landscape — all  the  joy  out  of  his  life — and  he  realised, 
as  it  were  suddenly,  what  her  love  meant  to  him. 

"  It  is  everything !  "  he  said.  "  I  don't  believe  I  could 
write  a  line  without  her! — in  fact  I  know  I  wouldn't  have 
the  heart  for  it!  She  is  so  different  to  every  woman  I 
have  ever  known, — she  seems  to  make  the  world  all  warm 
and  kind  by  just  smiling  her  own  bonnie  smile!  " 

And  starting  off  to  walk  part  of  the  way  back  to  Weir- 
combe,  he  sang  softly  under  his  breath  as  he  went  a  verse 
of  "  Annie  Laurie  " — 

"  Like  dew  on  the  gowan  lyin' 
Is  the  fa'  o"  her  fairy  feet; 
And  like  winds  in  simmer  sighin' 
Her  voice  is  low  an'  sweet — 


402      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

Her  voice  is  low  an'  sweet; 
An'  she's  a'  the  world  to  me; 

An'  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I'd  lay  me  doun  and  dee ! " 

And  all  the  beautiful  influences  of  nature, — the  bright 
sunshine,  the  wealth  of  June  blossom,  the  clear  skies  and  the 
singing  of  birds,  seemed  part  of  that  enchanting  old  song, 
expressing  the  happiness  which  alone  is  made  perfect  by 
love. 

Meanwhile,  no  adventures  of  a  startling  or  remarkable 
kind  occurred  to  Mary  during  her  rather  long  and  tedious 
journey.  Various  passengers  got  into  her  third-class  com- 
partment and  got  out  again,  but  they  were  somewhat  dull 
and  commonplace  folk,  many  of  them  being  of  that  curiously 
unsociable  type  of  human  creature  which  apparently  mis- 
trusts its  fellows.  Contrary  to  her  ingenuous  expectation, 
no  one  seenied  to  think  a  journey  to  London  was  anything 
of  a  unique  or  thrilling  experience.  Once  only,  when  she 
was  nearing  her  destination,  did  she  venture  to  ask  a  fel- 
low-passenger, an  elderly  man  with  a  kindly  face,  how  she 
ought  to  go  to  Chancery  Lane.  He  looked  at  her  with  a 
touch  of  curiosity. 

"  That's  among  the  hornets'  nests,"  he  said. 

She  raised  her  pretty  eyebrows  with  a  little  air  of  per- 
plexity. 

"Hornets' nests?" 

"  Yes.  Where  a  good  many  lawyers  live,  or  used  to 
live." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  "  And  she  smiled  responsively  to  what  he 
evidently  intended  as  a  brilliant  satirical  joke.  "  But  is  it 
easy  to  get  there  ?  " 

"  Quite  easy.     Take  a  'bus." 

"  From  the  station  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  " 

And  he  subsided  into  silence. 

She  asked  no  more  questions,  and  on  her  arrival  at  Pad- 
dington  confided  her  anxieties  to  a  friendly  porter,  who, 
announcing  that  he  was  "  from  Somerset  born  himself  and 
would  see  her  through,."  gave  her  concise  directions  which 
she  attentively  followed;  with  the  result  that  despite  much 
bewilderment  in  getting  in  and  getting  out  of  omnibuses, 
and  jostling  against  more  people  than  she  had  ever  seen  in 
the  course  of  her  whole  life,  she  found  herself  at  last  at  the 


THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN      403 

entrance  of  a  rather  obscure-looking  smutty  little  passage, 
guarded  by  a  couple  of  round  columns,  on  which  were 
painted  in  black  letters  a  considerable  number  of  names, 
among  which  were  those  of  "  Vesey  and  Symonds."  The 
numeral  inscribed  above  the  entrance  to  this  passage  corre- 
sponded to  the  number  on  the  address  of  the  packet  which 
she  carried  for  "  Mr.  Bulteel  " — but  though  she  read  all  the 
names  on  the  two  columns,  "  Bulteel  "  was  not  among  them. 
Nevertheless,  she  made  her  way  perseveringly  into  what 
seemed  nothing  but  a  little  blind  alley  leading  nowhere,  and 
as  she  did  so,  a  small  boy  came  running  briskly  down  a  flight 
of  dark  stairs,  which  were  scarcely  visible  from  the  street, 
and  nearly  knocked  her  over. 

'  'Ullo!     Beg  pardon  'ml     Which  office  d'  ye  want?" 

"  Is  there,"  began  Mary,  in  her  gentle  voice — "  is  there 
a  Mr.  Bulteel ?" 

"  Bulteel  ?  Yes — straight  up — second  floor — third  door — 
Vesey  and  Symonds !  " 

With  these  words  jerked  out  of  himself  at  lightning  speed, 
the  boy  rushed  past  her  and  disappeared. 

With  a  beating  heart  Mary  cautiously  climbed  the  dark 
staircase  which  he  had  just  descended.  When  she  reached 
the  second  floor,  she  paused.  There  were  three  doors  all 
facing  her, — on  the  first  one  was  painted  the  name  of  "  Sir 
Francis  Vesey  " — on  the  second  "  Mr.  John  Symonds  " — 
and  on  the  third  "  Mr.  Bulteel."  As  soon  as  she  saw  this  last, 
she  heaved  a  little  sigh  of  relief,  and  going  straight  up  to  it 
knocked  timidly.  It  was  opened  at  once  by  a  young  clerk 
who  looked  at  her  questioningly. 

"  Mr.  Bulteel  ?  "  she  asked,  hesitatingly. 

"  Yes.     Have  you  an  appointment  ?  " 

"  No.  I  am  quite  a  stranger,"  she  said.  "  I  only  wish 
to  tell  Mr.  Bulteel  of  the  death  of  some  one  he  knows." 

The  clerk  glanced  at  her  and  seemed  dubious. 

"  Mr.  Bulteel  is  very  busy,"  he  began — "  and  unless  you 
have  an  appointment — 

"  Oh,  please  let  me  see  him !  "  And  Mary's  eyes  almost 
filled  with  tears.  "  See !  " — and  she  held  up  before  him  the 
packet  she  carried.  "  I've  travelled  all  the  way  from  Weir- 
combe,  in  Somerset,  to  bring  him  this  from  his  dead  friend, 
and  I  promised  to  give  it  to  him  myself.  Please,  please  do 
not  turn  me  away !  " 

The  clerk  stared  hard  at  the  superscription  on  the  packet, 


404      THE     TREASURE-  OF     HEAVEN 

as  he  well  might.  For  he  had  at  once  recognised  the  hand- 
writing of  David  Helmsley.  But  he  suppressed  every  out- 
ward sign  of  surprise,  save  such  as  might  appear  in  a  glance 
of  unconcealed  wonder  at  Mary  herself.  Then  he  said 
briefly — 

"Come  in!" 

She  obeyed,  and  was  at  once  shut  in  a  stuffy  cupboard- 
like  room  which  had  no  other  furniture  than  an  office  desk 
and  high  stool. 

"  Name,  please !  "  said  the  clerk. 

She  looked  startled — then  smiled. 

"  My  name  ?     Mary  Deane." 

"  Miss  or  Mrs.  ?  " 

" '  Miss,'  if  you  please,  sir,"  she  answered,  the  colour 
flushing  her  cheeks  with  confusion  at  the  sharpness  of  his 
manner. 

The  clerk  gave  her  another  up-and-down  look,  and  open- 
ing a  door  behind  his  office  desk  vanished  like  a  conjuror 
tricking  himself  through  a  hole. 

She  waited  patiently  for  a  couple  of  minutes — and  then 
the  clerk  came  back,  with  traces  of  excitement  in  his 
manner. 

"  Yes — Mr.  Bulteel  will  see  you.     This  way !  " 

She  followed  him  with  her  usual  quiet  step  and  com- 
posed demeanour,  and  bent  her  head  with  a  pretty  air  of 
respect  as  she  found  herself  in  the  presence  of  an  elderly 
man  with  iron-grey  whiskers  and  a  severely  preoccupied  air 
of  business  hardening  his  otherwise  rather  benevolent  fea- 
tures. He  adjusted  his  spectacles  and  looked  keenly  at  her 
as  she  entered.  She  spoke  at  once. 

"  You  are  Mr.  Bulteel  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  this  is  for  you,"  she  said,  approaching  him,  and 
handing  him  the  packet  she  had  brought.  "  They  are  some 
papers  belonging  to  a  poor  old  tramp  named  David,  who 
lodged  in  my  house  for  nearly  a  year — it  will  be  a  year  come 
July.  He  was  very  weak  and  feeble  and  got  lost  in  a  storm 
on  the  hills  above  Weircombe — that's  where  I  live — and  I 
found  him  lying  quite  unconscious  in  the  wet  and  cold,  and 
took  him  home  and  nursed  him.  He  got  better  and  stayed 
on  with  me,  making  baskets  for  a  living — he  was  too  feeble 
to  tramp  any  more — but  he  gave  me  no  trouble,  he  was  such 
a  kind,  good  old  man.  I  was  very  fond  of  him.  And — and 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   405 

— last  week  he  died  " — here  her  sweet  voice  trembled.  "  He 
suffered  great  pain — but  at  the  end  he  passed  away  quite 
peacefully — in  my  arms.  He  was  very  anxious  that  I  should 
bring-  his  papers  to  you  myself — and  I  promised  I  would 
do  so " 

She  paused,  a  little  troubled  by  his  silence.  Surely  he 
looked  very  strangely  at  her. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  faltered,  nervously — "  if  I  have 
brought  you  any  bad  news; — poor  David  seemed  to  have 
no  friends,  but  perhaps  you  were  a  friend  to  him  once  and 
may  have  a  kind  recollection  of  him " 

He  was  still  quite  silent.  Slowly  he  broke  the  seals  of 
the  packet,  and  drawing  out  a  slip  of  paper  which  came  first 
to  his  hand,  read  what  was  written  upon  it.  Then  he  rose 
from  his  chair. 

"  Kindly  wait  one  moment,"  he  said.  "  These — these 
papers  and  letters  are  not  for  me,  but — but  for — for  an- 
other gentleman." 

He  hurried  out  of  the  room,  taking  the  packet  with  him, 
and  Mary  remained  alone  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
vaguely  perplexed,  and  wondering  how  any  "  other  gentle- 
man "  could  possibly  be  concerned  in  the  matter.  Presently 
Mr.  Bulteel  returned,  in  an  evident  state  of  suppressed 
agitation. 

"  Will  you  please  follow  me,  Miss  Deane  ?  "  he  said,  with 
a  singular  air  of  deference.  "  Sir  Francis  is  quite  alone 
and  will  see  you  at  once." 

Mary's  blue  eyes  opened  in  amazement. 

"Sir  Francis !"  she  stammered.  "I  don't  quite 

understand " 

"  This  way,"  said  Mr.  Bulteel,  escorting  her  out  of  his 
own  room  along  the  passage  to  the  door  which  she  had 
before  seen  labelled  with  the  name  of  "  Sir  Francis  Vesey  " 
— then  catching  the  startled  and  appealing  glance  of  her 
eyes,  he  added  kindly :  "  Don't  be  alarmed !  It's  all 
right !  " 

Thereupon  he  opened  the  door  and  announced — 

"  Miss  Deane,  Sir  Francis." 

Mary  looked  up,  and  then  curtsied  with  quite  an  "  out- 
of-date  "  air  of  exquisite  grace,  as  she  found  herself  in  the 
presence  of  a  dignified  white-haired  old  gentleman,  who, 
standing  near  a  large  office  desk  on  which  the  papers  she 
had  brought  lay  open,  was  wiping  his  spectacles,  and  look- 


406      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

ing  very  much  as  if  he  had  been  guilty  of  the  womanish 
weakness  of  tears.  He  advanced  to  meet  her. 

"  How  do  you  do ! "  he  said,  uttering  this  common- 
place with  remarkable  earnestness,  and  taking  her  hand 
kindly  in  his  own.  "  You  bring  me  sad  news — very  sad 
news !  I  had  not  expected  the  death  of  my  old  friend  so 
suddenly — I  had  hoped  to  see  him  again — yes,  I  had  hoped 
very  much  to  see  him  again  quite  soon !  And  so  you  were 
with  him  at  the  last?" 

Mary  looked,  as  she  felt,  utterly  bewildered. 

"  I  think,"  she  murmured — "  I  think  there  must  be  some 
mistake, — the  papers  I  brought  here  were  for  Mr. 
Bulteel " 

"  Yes — yes !  "  said  Sir  Francis.  "  That's  quite  right ! 
Mr.  Bulteel  is  my  confidential  clerk — and  the  packet  was  ad- 
dressed to  him.  But  a  note  inside  requested  that  Mr.  Bul- 
teel should  bring  all  the  documents  at  once  to  me,  which  he 
has  done.  Everything  is  quite  correct — quite  in  order. 
But — I  forgot !  You  do  not  know !  Please  sit  down — and 
I  will  endeavour  to  explain." 

He  drew  up  a  chair  for  her  near  his  desk  so  that  she 
might  lean  her  arm  upon  it,  for  she  looked  frightened. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  frightened  himself.  Such  a 
task  as  he  had  now  to  perform  had  never  before  been 
allotted  to  him.  A  letter  addressed  to  him,  and  enclosed 
in  the  packet  containing  Helmsley's  Last  Will  and  Testa- 
ment, had  explained  the  whole  situation,  and  had  fully  de- 
scribed, with  simple  fidelity,  the  life  his  old  friend  had  led 
at  Weircombe,  and  the  affectionate  care  with  which  Mary 
had  tended  him, — while  the  conclusion  of  the  letter  was 
worded  in  terms  of  touching  farewell.  "  For,"  wrote 
Helmsley,  "  when  you  read  this,  I  shall  be  dead  and  in  my 
quiet  grave  at  Weircombe.  Let  me  rest  there  in  peace, — 
for  though  my  eyes  will  no  more  see  the  sun, — or  the  kind- 
ness in  the  eyes  of  the  woman  whose  unselfish  goodness  has 
been  more  than  the  sunshine  to  me,  I  shall — or  so  I  think 
and  hope — be  spiritually  conscious  that  my  mortal  remains 
are  buried  where  humble  and  simple  folk  think  well  of  me. 
This  last  letter  from  my  hand  to  you  is  one  not  of  business 
so  much  as  friendship — for  I  have  learned  that  what  we  call 
'  business '  counts  for  very  little,  while  the  ties  of  sym- 
pathy, confidence,  and  love  between  human  beings  are  the 
only  forces  that  assist  in  the  betterment  of  the  world.  And 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   407 

so  farewell !  Let  the  beloved  angel  who  brings  you  these 
last  messages  from  me  have  all  honour  from  you  for  my 
sake. — Yours,  "  DAVID  HELMSLEY." 

And  now,  to  Sir  Francis  Vesey's  deep  concern,  the  "  be- 
ioved  angel  "  thus  spoken  of  sat  opposite  to  him,  moved  by 
evident  alarm, — her  blue  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  her  face 
pale  and  scared.  How  was  he  to  begin  telling  her  what  she 
was  bound  to  know? 

"  Yes — I  will — I  must  endeavour  to  explain,"  he  repeated, 
bending  his  brows  upon  her  and  regaining  something  of  his 
self-control.  "  You,  of  course,  were  not  aware — I  mean  my 
old  friend  never  told  you  who  he  really  was  ?  " 

Her  anxious  look  grew  more  wistful. 

"  No,  and  indeed  I  never  asked,"  she  said.  "  He  was  so 
feeble  when  I  took  him  to  my  home  out  of  the  storm,  and 
for  weeks  afterwards  he  was  so  dangerously  ill,  that  I 
thought  questions  might  worry  him.  Besides  it  was  not 
my  business  to  bother  about  where  he  came  from.  He  was 
just  old  and  poor  and  friendless — that  was  enough  for  me." 

"  I  hope — I  do  very  much  hope,"  said  Sir  Francis  gently, 
"  that  you  will  not  allow  yourself  to  be  too  much  startled — 
or — or  overcome  by  what  I  have  to  tell  you.  David — he 
said  his  name  was  David,  did  he  not?  " 

She  made  a  sign  of  assent.  A  strange  terror  was  creep- 
ing upon  her,  and  she  could  not  speak. 

"  David — yes ! — that  was  quite  right — David  was  his 
name,"  proceeded  Sir  Francis  cautiously.  "  But  he  had 
another  name — a  surname  which  perhaps  you  may,  or  may 
not  have  heard.  That  name  was  Helmsley " 

She  sprang  up  with  a  cry,  remembering  Angus  Reay's 
story  about  his  first  love,  Lucy  Sorrel,  and  her  millionaire. 

"Helmsley!     Not  David  Helmsley!" 

"  Yes, — David  Helmsley !  The  '  poor  old  tramp  '  you 
sheltered  in  your  home, — the  friendless  and  penniless 
stranger  you  cared  for  so  unselfishly  and  tenderly,  was  one 
of  the  richest  men  in  the  world !  " 

She  stood  amazed, — stricken  as  by  a  lightning  shock. 

"  One  of  the  richest  men  in  the  world !  "  she  faltered. 

"  One  of  the  richest "  and  here,  with  a  little  stifled  sob, 

she  wrung  her  hands  together.  "  Oh  no — no !  That  can't 
be  true !  He  would  never  have  deceived  me !  " 

Sir  Francis  felt  an  uncomfortable  tightness  in  his  throat. 


408      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

The  situation  was  embarrassing.  He  saw  at  once  that  she 
was  not  so  mucty  affected  by  the  announcement  of  the  sup- 
posed "  poor  "  man's  riches,  as  by  the  overwhelming  thought 
that  he  could  have  represented  himself  to  her  as  any  other 
than  he  truly  was. 

"  Sit  down  again,  and  let  me  tell  you  all,"  he  said  gently — 
"  You  will,  I  am  sure,  forgive  him  for  the  part  he  played 
when  you  know  his  history.  David  Helmsley — who  was  my 
friend  as  well  as  my  client  for  more  than  twenty  years — was 
a  fortunate  man  in  the  way  of  material  prosperity, — but  he 
was  very  unfortunate  in  his  experience  of  human  nature. 
His  vast  wealth  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  see  much 
more  of  men  and  women  than  was  just  enough  to  show  him 
their  worst  side.  He  was  surrounded  by  people  who  sought 
to  use  him  and  his  great  influence  for  their  own  selfish  ends, 
— and  the  emotions  and  sentiments  of  life,  such  as  love, 
fidelity,  kindness,  and  integrity,  he  seldom  or  never  met 
with  among  either  his  so-called  '  friends '  or  his  acquaint- 
ances. His  wife  was  false  to  him,  and  his  two  sons  brought 
him  nothing  but  shame  and  dishonour.  They  all  three  died 
— and  then — then  in  his  old  age  he  found  himself  alone  in 
the  world  without  any  one  who  loved  him,  or  whom  he 
loved — without  any  one  to  whom  he  could  confidently  leave 
his  enormous  fortune,  knowing  it  would  be  wisely  and  nobly 
used.  When  I  last  saw  him  I  urged  upon  him  the  necessity 
of  making  his  Will.  He  said  he  could  not  make  it,  as  there 
was  no  one  living  whom  he  cared  to  name  as  his  heir.  Then 
he  left  London, — ostensibly  on  a  journey  for  his  health." 
Here  Sir  Francis  paused,  looking  anxiously  at  his  listener. 
She  was  deadly  pale,  and  every  now  and  then  her  eyes 
brimmed  over  with  tears.  "  You  can  guess  the  rest,"  he 
continued, — "  He  took  no  one  into  his  confidence  as  to 
his  intention, — not  even  me.  I  understood  he  had  gone 
abroad — till  che  other  day — a  short  time  ago — when  I  had 
a  letter  from  him  telling  me  that  he  was  passing  through 
Exeter." 

She  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands  nervously. 

"  Ah !  That  was  where  he  went  when  he  told  me  he  had 
gone  in  search  of  work ! "  she  murmured — "  Oh,  David, 
David !  " 

"  He  informed  me  then,"  proceeded  Sir  Francis,  "  that 
he  had  made  his  Will.  The  Will  is  here," — and  he  took 
up  a  document  lying  on  his  desk — "  The  manner  of  its 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   409 

execution  coincides  precisely  with  the  letter  of  instructions 
received,  as  I  say,  from  Exeter — of  course  it  will  have  to  be 
formally  proved " 

She  lifted  her  eyes  wonderingly. 

"  What  is  it  to  me  ?  "  she  said — "  I  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  I  have  brought  you  the  papers — but  I  am  sorry — oh,  so- 
sorry  to  hear  that  he  was  not  what  he  made  himself  out  to 
be !  I  cannot  think  of  him  in  the  same  way " 

Sir  Francis  drew  his  chair  closer  to  hers. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  he  said — "  Is  it  possible,  my  dear  Miss 
Deane,  that  you  do  not  understand  ?  " 

She  gazed  at  him  candidly. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  understand,"  she  said — "  I  understand 
that  he  was  a  rich  man  who  played  the  part  of  a  poor  one — 
to  see  if  any  one  would  care  for  him  just  for  himself  alone — 
and — I — I— did  care — oh,  I  did  care ! — and  now  I  feel  as  if 
I  couldn't  care  any  more " 

Her  voice  broke  sobbingly,  and  Sir  Francis  Vesey  grew 
desperate. 

"  Don't  cry  !  "  he  said—"  Please  don't  cry !  I  should  not 
be  able  to  bear  it !  You  see  I'm  a  business  man  " — here  he 
took  off  his  spectacles  and  rubbed  them  vigorously — "  and 
my  position  is  that  of  the  late  Mr.  David  Helmsley's  solicitor. 
In  that  position  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  the  straight  truth — 
because  I'm  afraid  you  don't  grasp  it  at  all.  It  is  a  very 
overwhelming  thing  for  you, — but  all  the  same,  I  am  sure, 
quite  sure,  that  my  old  friend  had  reason  to  rely  confidently 
upon  your  strength  of  character — as  well  as  upon  your 
affection  for  him " 

She  had  checked  her  sobs  and  was  looking  at  him  steadily. 

"And,  therefore,"  he  proceeded — "  referring  again  to  my 
own  position — that  of  the  late  David  Helmsley's  solicitor,  it 
is  my  duty  to  inform  you  that  you,  Mary  Deane,  are  by  his 
last  Will  and  Testament,  the  late  David  Helmsley's  sole 
heiress." 

She  started  up  in  terror. 

"  Oh  no,  no ! — not  me !  "  she  cried. 

"  Everything  which  the  late  David  Helmsley  died  pos- 
sessed of,  is  left  to  you  absolutely  and  unconditionally,"  went 
on  Sir  Francis,  speaking  with  slow  and  deliberate  emphasis 
— "  And — even  as  he  was  one  of  the  richest  men,  so  you  are 
now  one  of  the  richest  women  in  the  world  !  " 

She  turned  deathly  white, — then  suddenly,  to  his  great 


410      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

alarm  and  confusion,  dropped  on  her  knees  before  him, 
clasping  her  hands  in  a  passion  of  appeal. 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  sir !  "  she  exclaimed — "  Please,  please 
don't  say  it !  I  cannot  be  rich — I  would  not !  I  should  be 
miserable — I  should  indeed !  Oh,  David,  dear  old  David ! 
I'm  sure  he  never  wished  to  make  me  wretched — he  was 
fond  of  me — he  was,  really!  And  we  were  so  happy  and 
peaceful  in  the  cottage  at  home !  There  was  so  little  money, 
but  so  much  love !  Don't  say  I'm  rich,  sir ! — or,  if  I  am,  let 
me  give  it  all  away  at  once !  Let  me  give  it  to  the  starving 
and  sick  people  in  this  great  city — or  please  give  it  to  them 
for  me, — but  don't,  don't  say  that  I  must  keep  it  myself ! — I 
could  not  bear  it ! — oh,  I  could  not  bear  it !  Help  me,  oh,  do 
help  me  to  give  it  all  away  and  let  me  remain  just  as  I  am, 
quite,  quite  poor !  " 


CHAPTER     XXIV 

THERE  was  a  moment's  silence,  broken  only  by  the  roar  and 
din  of  the  London  city  traffic  outside,  which  sounded  like 
the  thunder  of  mighty  wheels — the  wheels  of  a  rolling  world. 
And  then  Sir  Francis,  gently  taking  Mary's  hand  in  his  own, 
raised  her  from  the  ground. 

"  My  dear," — he  said,  huskily — "  You  must  not — you 
really  must  not  give  way !  See," — and  he  took  up  a  sealed 
letter  from  among  the  documents  on  the  desk,  addressed 
"  To  Mary  " — and  handed  it  to  her — "  my  late  friend  asks 
me  in  the  last  written  words  I  have  from  him  to  give  this  to 
you.  I  will  leave  you  alone  to  read  it.  You  will  be  quite 
private  in  this  room — and  no  one  will  enter  till  you  ring. 
Here  is  the  bell," — and  he  indicated  it — "  I  think — indeed  I 
am  sure,  when  you  understand  everything,  you  will  accept 
the  great  responsibility  which  will  now  devolve  upon  you,  in 
as  noble  a  spirit  as  that  in  which  you  accepted  the  care  of 
David  Helmsley  himself  when  you  thought  him  no  more 
than  what  in  very  truth  he  was — a  lonely-hearted  old  man, 
searching  for  what  few  of  us  ever  find — an  unselfish  love !  " 

He  left  her  then — and  like  one  in  a  dream,  she  opened  and 
read  the  letter  he  had  given  her — a  letter  as  beautiful  and 
wise  and  tender  as  ever  the  fondest  father  could  have  writ- 
ten to  the  dearest  of  daughters.  Everything  was  explained 
in  it — everything  made  clear ;  and  gradually  she  realised  the 
natural,  strong  and  pardonable  craving  of  the  rich,  unloved 
man,  to  seek  out  for  himself  some  means  whereby  he  might 
leave  all  his  world's  gainings  to  one  whose  kindness  to  him 
had  not  been  measured  by  any  knowledge  of  his  wealth,  but 
which  had  been  bestowed  upon  him  solely  for  simple  love's 
sake.  Every  line  Helmsley  had  written  to  her  in  this  last 
appeal  to  her  tenderness,  came  from  his  very  heart,  and 
went  to  her  own  heart  again,  moving  her  to  the  utmost 
reverence,  pity  and  affection.  In  his  letter  he  enclosed  a 
paper  with  a  list  of  bequests  which  he  left  to  her  charge. 

"  I  could  not  name  them  in  my  Will," — he  wrote — "  as 
this  would  have  disclosed  my  identity — but  you,  my  dear, 
will  be  more  exact  than  the  law  in  the  payment  of  what  I 

411 


412      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

have  here  set  down  as  just.  And,  therefore,  to  you  I  leave 
this  duty." 

First  among  these  legacies  came  one  of  Ten  Thousand 
Pounds  to  "  my  old  friend  Sir  Francis  Vesey," — and  then 
followed  a  long  list  of  legacies  to  servants,  secretaries,  and 
workpeople  generally.  The  sum  of  Five  Hundred  Pounds 
was  to  be  paid  to  Miss  Tranter,  hostess  of  "  The  Trusty 
Man," — "  for  her  kindness  to  me  on  the  one  night  I  passed 
under  her  hospitable  roof," — and  sums  of  Two  Hundred 
Pounds  each  were  left  to  "  Matthew  Peke,  Herb  Gatherer," 
and  Farmer  Joltram,  both  these  personages  to  be  found 
through  the  aforesaid  Miss  Tranter.  Likewise  a  sum  of 
Two  Hundred  Pounds  was  to  be  paid  to  one  "  Meg  Ross — 
believed  to  hold  a  farm  near  Watchett  in  Somerset."  No 
one  that  had  served  the  poor  "  tramp  "  was  forgotten  by  the 
great  millionaire ; — a  sum  of  Five  Hundred  Pounds  was  left 
to  John  Bunce,  "  with  grateful  and  affectionate  thanks  for 
his  constant  care  " — and  a  final  charge  to  Mary  was  the 
placing  of  Fifty  Thousand  Pounds  in  trust  for  the  benefit 
of  Weircombe,  its  Church,  and  its  aged  poor.  The  money 
in  bank  notes,  enclosed  with  the  testator's  last  Will  and 
Testament,  was  to  be  given  to  Mary  for  her  own  immediate 
use, — and  then  came  the  following  earnest  request ; — "  I 
desire  that  the  sum  of  Half-a-crown,  made  up  of  coppers 
and  one  sixpence,  which  will  be  found  with  these  effects, 
shall  be  enclosed  in  a  casket  of  gold  and  inscribed  with  the 
words  '  The  "  surprise  gift "  collected  by  "  Tom  o'  the 
Gleam  "  for  David  Helmsley,  when  as  a  tramp  on  the  road 
he  seemed  to  be  in  need  of  the  charity  and  sympathy  of  his 
fellow  men  and  which  to  him  was 

MORE  PRECIOUS  THAN   MANY  MILLIONS. 

And  I  request  that  the  said  casket  containing  these  coins 
may  be  retained  by  Mary  Deane  as  a  valued  possession  in  her 
family,  to  be  handed  down  as  a  talisman  and  cornerstone  of 
fortune  for  herself  and  her  heirs  in  perpetuity." 

Finally  the  list  of  bequests  ended  with  one  sufficiently 
unusual  to  be  called  eccentric.  It  ran  thus : — "  To  Angus 
Reay  I  leave  Mary  Deane — and  with  Her,  all  that  I  value, 
and  more  than  I  have  ever  possessed  !  " 

Gradually,  very  gradually,  Mary,  sitting  alone  in  Sir 
Francis  Vesey 's  office,  realised  the  whole  position, — gradu- 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   413 

« 

ally  the  trouble  and  excitation  of  her  mind  calmed  down, 
and  her  naturally  even  temperament  reasserted  itself.  She 
was  rich, — but  though  she  tried  to  realise  the  fact,  she  could 
not  do  so,  till  at  last  the  thought  of  Angus  and  how  she 
might  be  able  now  to  help  him  on  with  his  career,  roused  a 
sudden  rush  of  energy  within  her — which,  however,  was  not 
by  any  means  actual  happiness.  A  great  weight  seemed  to 
have  fallen  on  her  life — and  she  was  bowed  down  by  its 
heaviness.  Kissing  David  Helmsley's  letter,  she  put  it  in 
her  bosom, — he  had  asked  that  its  contents  might  be  held 
sacred,  and  that  no  eyes  but  her  own  should  scan  his  last 
words,  and  to  her  that  request  of  a  dead  man  was  more  than 
the  command  of  a  living  King.  The  list  of  bequests  she  held 
in  her  hand  ready  to  show  Sir  Francis  Vesey  when  he  en- 
tered, which  he  did  as  soon  as  she  touched  the  bell.  He  saw 
that,  though  very  pale,  she  was  now  comparatively  calm  and 
collected,  and  as  she  raised  her  eyes  and  tried  to  smile  at 
him,  he  realised  what  a  beautiful  woman  she  was. 

"  Please  forgive  me  for  troubling  you  so  much," — she 
said,  gently — "  I  am  very  sorry !  I  understand  it  all  now, — 
I  have  read  David's  letter, — I  shall  always  call  him  David,. 
I  think ! — and  I  quite  see  how  it  all  happened.  I  can't  help 
being  sorry — very  sorry,  that  he  has  left  his  money  to  me — 
because  it  will  be  so  difficult  to  know  how  to  dispose  of  it 
for  the  best.  But  surely  a  great  deal  of  it  will  go  in  these 
legacies," — and  she  handed  him  the  paper  she  held — "  You 
see  he  names  you  first." 

Sir  Francis  stared  at  the  document,  fairly  startled  and 
overcome  by  his  late  friend's  generosity,  as  well  as  by  Mary's 
naive  candour. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Deane," — he  began,  with  deep  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  You  will  tell  me  how  to  do  everything,  will  you  not  ?  "" 
she  interrupted  him,  with  an  air  of  pathetic  entreaty — "  I 
want  to  carry  out  all  his  wishes  exactly  as  if  he  were  beside 
me,  watching  me — I  think — "  and  her  voice  sank  a  little — 
"  he  may  be  here — with  us — even  now !  "  She  paused  a 
moment.  "  And  if  he  is,  he  knows  that  I  do  not  want 
money  for  myself  at  all — but  that  if  I  can  do  good  with  it, 
for  his  sake  and  memory,  I  will.  Is  it  a  very  great  deal  ?  'r 

"  Is  it  a  great  deal  of  money,  you  mean  ?  "  he  queried. 

She  nodded. 

"  I  should  say  that  at  the  very  least  my  late  friend's  per- 


414      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

sonal  estate  must  be  between  six  and  seven  millions  of 
pounds  sterling." 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  dismay. 

"  Oh  !  It  is  terrible !  "  she  said,  in  a  low  strained  voice — 
"  Surely  God  never  meant  one  man  to  have  so  much 
money !  " 

"  It  was  fairly  earned," — said  Sir  Francis,  quietly — 
"  David  Helmsley,  to  my  own  knowledge,  never  wronged 
or  oppressed  a  single  human  being  on  his  way  to  his  own 
success.  His  money  is  clean!  There's  no  brother's  blood 
on  the  gold — and  no  '  sweated '  labour  at  the  back  of  it. 
That  I  can  vouch  for — that  I  can  swear !  No  curse  will  rest 
on  the  fortune  you  inherit,  Miss  Deane — for  it  was  made 
honestly !  " 

Tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  and  she  wiped  them  away 
furtively. 

"  Poor  David !  "  she  murmured — "  Poor  lonely  old  man  ! 
With  all  that  wealth  and  no  one  to  care  for  him !  Oh  yes, 
the  more  I  think  of  it  the  more  I  understand  it !  But  now 
there  is  only  one  thing  for  me  to  do — I  must  get  home  as 
quickly  as  possible  and  tell  Angus  " — here  she  pointed  to  the 
last  paragraph  in  Helmsley's  list  of  bequests — "  You  see," — 
she  went  on — "  he  leaves  Mary  Deane — that's  me — to  Angus 
Reay,  '  and  with  Her  all  that  I  value.'  I  am  engaged  to  be 
married  to  Mr.  Reay — David  wished  very  much  to  live  till 
our  wedding-day — " 

She  broke  off,  passing  her  hand  across  her  brow  and  look- 
ing puzzled. 

"  Mr.  -Reay  is  very  much  to  be  congratulated !  " — said 
Sir  Francis,  gently. 

She  smiled  rather  sadly. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  sure  of  that,"  she  said — "  He  is  a  very 
clever  man — he  writes  books,  and  he  will  be  famous  very 
soon — while  I — "  She  paused  again,  then  went  on,  look- 
ing very  earnestly  at  Sir  Francis — "  May  I — would  you — 
write  out  something  for  me  that  I  might  sign  before  I  go 
away  to-day,  to  make  it  sure  that  if  I  die,  all  that  I  have — 
including  this  terrible,  terrible  fortune — shall  come  to  Angus 
Reay?  You  see  anything  might  happen  to  me — quite  sud- 
denly,— the  very  train  I  am  going  back  in  to-night  might 
meet  with  some  accident,  and  I  might  be  killed — and  then 
poor  David's  money  would  be  lost,  and  his  legacies  never 
paid.  Don't  you  see  that  ?  " 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   415 

Sir  Francis  certainly  saw  it,  but  was  not  disposed  to  admit 
its  possibility. 

"  There  is  really  no  necessity  to  anticipate  evil,"  he  began. 

"  There  is  perhaps  no  necessity — but  I  should  like  to  be 
sure,  quite  sure,  that  in  case  of  such  evil  all  was  right," — she 
said,  with  great  feeling — "  And  I  know  you  could  do  it  for 
me " 

"  Why,  of  course,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  I  can  draw  you  up 
a  form  of  Will  in  ten  minutes," — he  said,  smiling  benevo- 
lently— "  Would  that  satisfy  you  ?  You  have  only  to  sign  it, 
and  the  thing  is  done." 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  she  rejoiced  at  this  proposi- 
tion,— the  eager  delight  with  which  she  contemplated  the 
immediate  disposal  of  the  wealth  she  had  not  as  yet  touched, 
to  the  man  she  loved  best  in  the  world — and  the  swift 
change  in  her  manner  from  depression  to  joy,  when  Sir 
Francis,  just  to  put  her  mind  at  ease,  drafted  a  concise  form 
of  Will  for  her  in  his  own  handwriting,  in  which  form  she, 
with  the  same  precision  as  that  of  David  Helmsley,  left 
"  everything  of  which  she  died  possessed,  absolutely  and 
unconditionally,"  to  her  promised  husband.  With  a  smile 
on  her  face  and  sparkling  eyes,  she  signed  this  document  in 
the  presence  of  two  witnesses,  clerks  of  the  office  called  up 
for  the  purpose,  who,  if  it  had  been  their  business  to  express 
astonishment,  would  undoubtedly  have  expressed  it  then. 

"  You  will  keep  it  here  for  me,  won't  you  ?  "  she  said, 
when  the  clerks  had  retired  and  the  business  was  con- 
cluded— "  And  I  shall  feel  so  much  more  at  rest  now  I 
For  when  I  have  talked  it  over  with  Angus  I  shall  realise 
everything  more  clearly — he  will  advise  me  what  to  do — he 
is  so  much  wiser  than  I  am !  And  you  will  write  to  me  and 
tell  me  all  that  is  needful  for  me  to  know — shall  I  leave  this 
paper?" — and  she  held  up  the  document  in  which  the  list 
of  Helmsley's  various  legacies  was  written — "  Surely  you 
ought  to  keep  it  ?  " 

Sir  Francis  smiled  gravely. 

"  I  think  not !  "  he  said — "  I  think  I  must  urge  you  to 
retain  that  paper  on  which  my  name  is  so  generously  re- 
membered, in  your  own  possession,  Miss  Deane.  You  un- 
derstand, I  suppose,  that  you  are  not  by  the  law  compelled 
to  pay  any  of  these  legacies.  They  are  left  entirely  to  your 
own  discretion.  They  merely  represent  the  last  purely  per- 
sonal wishes  of  my  late  friend,  David  Helmsley,  and  you 


416      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

must  yourself  decide  whether  you  consider  it  practical  to 
carry  them  out." 

She  looked  surprised. 

"  But  the  personal  wishes  of  the  dead  are  more  than  any 
law,"  she  exclaimed — "  They  are  sacred.  How  could  I  " — 
and  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  she  laid  her  hand  appeal- 
ingly  on  his  arm — "  How  could  I  neglect  or  fail  to  fulfil  any 
one  of  them  ?  It  would  be  impossible !  " 

Responding  to  her  earnest  look  and  womanly  gentleness, 
Sir  Francis,  who  had  not  forgotten  the  old  courtesies  once 
practised  by  gentlemen  to  women  whom  they  honoured, 
raised  the  hand  that  rested  so  lightly  on  his  arm,  and 
kissed  it. 

"  I  know,"  he  said — "  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  you 
to  do  what  is  not  right  and  true  and  just!  And  you  will 
need  no  advice  from  me  save  such  as  is  purely  legal  and 
technical.  Let  me  be  your  friend  in  these  matters " 

"And  in  others  too," — said  Mary,  sweetly — "  I  do  hope 
you  will  not  dislike  me !  " 

Dislike  her?  Well,  well!  If  any  mortal  man,  old  or 
young,  could  "  dislike  "  a  woman  with  a  face  like  hers  and 
eyes  so  tender,  such  an  one  would  have  to  be  a  criminal 
or  a  madman!  In  a  little  while  they  fell  into  conversation 
as  naturally  as  if  they  had  known  each  other  for  years :  Sir 
Francis  listening  with  profound  interest  to  the  story  of  his 
old  friend's  last  days.  And  presently,  despatching  a  tele- 
gram to  his  wife  to  say  that  he  was  detained  in  the  city  by 
pressing  business,  he  took  Mary  out  with  him  to  a  quiet  little 
restaurant,  where  he  dined  with  her,  and  finally  saw  her 
off  from  Paddington  station  by  the  midnight  train  for  Mine- 
head.  Nothing  would  induce  her  to  stay  in  London, — her 
one  aim  and  object  in  life  now  was  to  return  to  Weircombe 
and  explain  everything  to  Angus  as  quickly  as  possible. 
And  when  the  train  had  gone,  Sir  Francis  left  the  platform 
in  a  state  of  profound  abstraction,  and  was  driven  home  in 
his  brougham,  feeling  more  like  a  sentimentalist  than  a 
lawyer. 

"  Extraordinary !  "  he  ejaculated — "  The  most  extraor- 
dinary thing  I  ever  heard  of  in  my  life?  But  I  knew — I 
felt  that  Helmsley  would  dispose  of  his  wealth  in  quite  an 
unexpected  way!  Now  I  wonder  how  the  man — Mary 
Deane's  lover — will  take  it?  I  wonder!  But  what  a 
woman  she  is! — how  beautiful! — how  simple  and  honest — 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   417 

above  all  how  purely  womanly! — with  all  the  sweet  grace 
and  gentleness  which  alone  commands,  and  ever  will  com- 
mand man's  adoration!  Helmsley  must  have  been  very 
much  at  peace  and  happy  in  his  last  days !  Yes ! — the  sor- 
rowful '  king '  of  many  millions  must  have  at  last  found  the 
treasure  he  sought  and  which  he  considered  more  precious 
than  all  his  money !  For  Solomon  was  right :  '  If  a  man 
would  give  all  the  substance  of  his  house  for  love,  it  would 

be  utterly  contemned ! ' : 

******* 


At  Weircombe  next  day  there  was  a  stiff  gale  of  wind 
blowing  inland,  and  the  village,  with  its  garlands  and  pyra- 
mids of  summer  blossom,  was  swept  from  end  to  end  by 
warm,  swift,  salty  gusts,  that  bent  the  trees  and  shook  the 
flowers  in  half  savage,  half  tender  sportiveness,  while  the 
sea,  shaping  itself  by  degrees  into  "  wild  horses  "  of  blue 
water  bridled  with  foam,  raced  into  the  shore  with  ever- 
increasing  hurry  and  fury.  But  notwithstanding  the  strong 
wind,  there  was  a  bright  sun,  and  a  dazzling  blue  sky,  scat- 
tered over  with  flying  masses  of  cloud,  like  flocks  of  white 
birds  soaring  swiftly  to  some  far-off  region  of  rest.  Every- 
thing in  nature  looked  radiant  and  beautiful, — health  and 
joy  were  exhaled  from  every  breath  of  air — and  yet  in  one 
place — one  pretty  rose-embowered  cottage,  where,  until  now, 
the  spirit  of  content  had  held  its  happy  habitation,  a  sudden 
gloom  had  fallen,  and  a  dark  'cloud  had  blotted  out  all  the 
sunshine.  Mary's  little  "  home  sweet  home  "  had  been  all 
at  once  deprived  of  sweetness, — and  she  sat  within  it  like  a 
mournful  castaway,  clinging  to  the  wreck  of  that  which 
had  so  long  been  her  peace  and  safety.  Tired  out  by  her 
long  night  journey  and  lack  of  sleep,  she  looked  very  white 
and  weary  and  ill — and  Angus  Reay,  sitting  opposite  to  her, 
looked  scarcely  less  worn  and  weary  than  herself.  He  had 
met  her  on  her  return  from  London  at  the  Minehead  station, 
with  all  the  ardour  and  eagerness  of  a  lover  and  a  boy, — 
and  he  had  at  once  seen  in  her  face  that  something  unex- 
pected had  happened, — something  that  had  deeply  affected 


418      TPIE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

her — though  she  had  told  him  nothing,  till  on  their  arrival 
home  at  the  cottage,  she  was  able  to  be  quite  alone  with  him. 
Then  he  learned  all.  Then  he  knew  that  "  old  David  "  had 
been  no  other  than  David  Helmsley  the  millionaire, — the 
very  man  whom  his  first  love,  Lucy  Sorrel,  had  schemed 
and  hoped  to  marry.  And  he  realised — and  God  alone  knew 
with  what  a  passion  of  despair  he  realised  it ! — that  Mary — 
his  bonnie  Mary — his  betrothed  wife — had  been  chosen  to 
inherit  those  very  millions  which  had  formerly  stood  be- 
tween him  and  what  he  had  then  imagined  to  be  his  happi- 
ness. And  listening  to  the  strange  story,  he  had  sunk  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  Slough  of  Despond,  and  now  sat  rigidly 
silent,  with  all  the  light  gone  out  of  his  features,  and  all  the 
ardour  quenched  in  his  eyes.  Mary  looking  at  him,  and 
reading  every  expression  in  that  dark  beloved  face,  felt  the 
tears  rising  thickly  in  her  throat,  but  bravely  suppressed 
them,  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  I  knew  you  would  be  sorry  when  you  heard  all  about 
it,  Angus," — she  said — "  I  felt  sure  you  would !  I  wish  it 
had  happened  differently — "  Here  she  stopped,  and  tak- 
ing up  the  little  dog  Charlie,  settled  him  on  her  knee.  He 
was  whimpering  to  be  caressed,  and  she  bent  over  his  small 
silky  head  to  hide  the  burning  drops  that  fell  from  her  eyes 
despite  herself.  "  If  it  could  only  be  altered  ! — but  it  can't — 
and  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  give  the  money  away  to  those 
who  need  it  as  quickly  as  possible " 

"  Give  it  away  !  "  answered  Angus,  bitterly — "  Good  God  ! 
Why,  to  give  away  seven  or  eight  millions  of  money  in  the 
right  quarters  would  occupy  one  man's  lifetime ! " 

His  voice  was  harsh,  and  his  hand  clenched  itself  involun- 
tarily as  he  spoke.  She  looked  at  him  in  a  vague  fear. 

"  No,  Mary," — he  said — "  You  can't  give  it  away — not  as 
you  imagine.  Besides, — there  is  more  than  money — there 
is  the  millionaire's  house — his  priceless  pictures,  his  books — 
his  yacht — a  thousand  and  one  other  things  that  he  pos- 
sessed, and  which  now  belong  to  you.  Oh  Mary!  I  wish 
to  God  I  had  never  seen  him !  " 

She  trembled. 

"  Then  perhaps — you  and  I  would  never  have  met,"  she 
murmured. 

"  Better  so !  "  and  rising,  he  paced  restlessly  up  and  down 
the  little  kitchen — "  Better  that  I  should  never  have  loved 
you,  Mary,  than  be  so  parted  from  you!  By  money,  too! 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   419 

The  last  thing  that  should  ever  have  come  between  us! 
Money !  Curse  it !  It  has  ruined  my  life !  " 

She  lifted  her  tear-wet  eyes  to  his. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Angus  ? "  she  asked,  gently — 
"  Why  do  you  talk  of  parting  ?  The  money  makes  no  dif- 
ference to  our  love !  " 

"  No  difference  ?  No  difference  ?  Oh  Mary,  don't  you 
see !  "  and  he  turned  upon  her  a  face  white  and  drawn  with 
his  inward  anguish — "  Do  you  think — can  you  imagine  that 
I  would  marry  a  woman  with  millions  of  money — I — a  poor 
devil,  with  nothing  in  the  world  to  call  my  own,  and  no 
means  of  livelihood  save  in  my  brain,  which,  after  all,  may 
turn  out  to  be  quite  of  a  worthless  quality !  Do  you  think  I 
would  live  on  your  bounty?  Do  you  think  I  would  accept 
money  from  you?  Surely  you  know  me  better!  Mary,  I 
love  you !  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul ! — but 
I  love  you  as  the  poor  working  woman  whose  work  I  hoped 
to  make  easier,  whose  life  it  was  my  soul's  purpose  to  make 
happy — but, — you  have  everything  you  want  in  the  world 
now! — and  I — I  am  no  use  to  you!  I  can  do  nothing  for 
you — nothing ! — you  are  David  Helmsley's  heiress,  and  with 
such  wealth  as  he  has  left  you,  you  might  marry  a  prince  of 
the  royal  blood  if  you  cared — for  princes  are  to  be  bought, — 
like  anything  else  in  the  world's  market!  But  you  are  not 
of  the  world — you  never  were— and  now — now — the  world 
will  take  you !  The  world  leaves  nothing  alone  that  has  any 
gold  upon  it !  " 

She  listened  quietly  to  his  passionate  outburst.  She  was 
deadly  pale,  and  she  pressed  Charlie  close  against  her 
bosom, — the  little  dog,  she  thought  half  vaguely,  would  love 
her  just  as  well  whether  she  was  rich  or  poor. 

"  How  can  the  world  take  me,  Angus  ?  "  she  said — "  Am 
I  not  yours  ? — all  yours ! — and  what  has  the  world  to  do  with 
me?  Do  not  speak  in  such  a  strange  way — you  hurt 
me " 

"  I  know  I  hurt  you !  "  he  said,  stopping  in  his  restless 
walk  and  facing  her — "  And  I  know  I  should  always  hurt 
you — now !  If  David  Helmsley  had  never  crossed  our  path, 
how  happy  we  might  have  been " 

She  raised  her  hand  reproachfully. 

"  Do  not  blame  the  poor  old  man,  even  in  a  thought, 
Angus !  "  she  said — "  His  dream — his  last  hope  was  that 
we  two  might  be  happy !  He  brought  us  together, — and 


420      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

I  am  sure,  quite  sure,  that  he  hoped  we  would  do  good 
in  the  world  with  the  money  he  has  left  us " 

"  Us !  "  interrupted  Angus,  meaningly. 

"  Yes, — surely  us !  For  am  I  not  to  be  one  with  you  ? 
Oh  Angus,  be  patient,  be  gentle!  Think  kindly  of  him 
who  meant  so  much  kindness  to  those  whom  he  loved  in 
his  last  days !  "  She  smothered  a  rising  sob,  and  went  on 
entreatingly — "  He  has  forgotten  no  one  who  was  friendly 
to  him — and — and — Angus — remember ! — remember  in  that 
paper  I  have  shown  to  you — that  list  of  bequests,  which  he 
has  entrusted  me  to  pay,  he  has  left  me  to  you,Angus ! — me 
— with  all  I  possess " 

She  broke  off,  startled  by  the  sorrow  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  legacy  I  cannot  accept ! "  he  said,  hoarsely,  his 
voice  trembling  with  suppressed  emotion — "  I  cannot  take 
it — even  though  you,  the  most  precious  part  of  it,  are  the 
dearest  thing  to  me  in  the  world !  I  cannot !  This  horrible 
money  has  parted  us,  Mary !  More  than  that,  it  has  robbed 
me  of  my  energy  for  work — I  cannot  work  without  you — 
and  I  must  give  you  up!  Even  if  I  could  curb  my  pride 
and  sink  my  independence,  and  take  money  which  I  have  not 
earned,  I  should  never  be  great  as  a  writer — never  be 
famous.  For  the  need  of  patience  and  grit  would  be  gone — 
I  should  have  nothing  to  work  for — no  object  in  view — no 
goal  to  attain.  Don't  you  see  how  it  is  with  me?  And 
so — as  things  have  turned  out — I  must  leave  Weircombe  at 
once — I  must  fight  this  business  through  by  myself " 

"  Angus ! "  and  putting  Charlie  gently  down,  she  rose 
from  her  chair  and  came  towards  him,  trembling — "  Do  you 
mean — do  you  really  mean  that  all  is  over  between  us? — 
that  you  will  not  marry  me  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  straightly. 

"  I  cannot !  "  he  said — "  Not  if  I  am  true  to  myself  as  a 
man !  " 

"  You  cannot  be  true  to  me,  as  a  woman  ?  " 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  there. 

"  Yes — I  can  be  so  true  to  you,  Mary,  that  as  long  as 
I  live  I  shall  love  you !  No  other  woman  shall  ever  rest  on 
my  heart — here — thus — as  you  are  resting  now!  I  will 
never  kiss  another  woman's  lips  as  I  kiss  yours  now !  " 
And  he  kissed  her  again  and  again — "  But,  at  the  same  time, 
I  will  never  live  upon  your  wealth  like  a  beggar  on  the 
bounty  of  a  queen!  I  will  never  accept  a  penny  at  your 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   421 

hands!  I  will  go  away  and  work — and  if  possible,  will 
make  the  fame  I  have  dreamed  of — but  I  will  never  marry 
you,  Mary — never !  That  can  never  be !  "  He  clasped  her 
more  closely  and  tenderly  in  his  arms — "  Don't — don't  cry, 
dear!  You  are  tired  with  your  long  journey — and — and — 
with  all  the  excitement  and  trouble.  Lie  down  and  rest 
awhile — and — don't — don't  worry  about  me!  You  deserve 
your  fortune — you  will  be  happy  with  it  by  and  by,  when 
you  find  out  how  much  it  can  do  for  you,  and  what  pleasures 
you  can  have  with  it — and  life  will  be  very  bright  for  you — 
I'm  sure  it  will!  Mary — don't  cling  to  me,  darling! — it — it 
unmans  me ! — and  I  must  be  strong — strong  for  your  sake 
and  my  own  " — here  he  gently  detached  her  arms  from 
about  his  neck — "  Good-bye,  dear ! — you  must — you  must  let 
me  go ! — God  bless  you !  " 

As  in  a  dream  she  felt  him  put  her  away  from  his  em- 
brace— the  cottage  door  opened  and  closed — he  was  gone. 

Vaguely  she  looked  about  her.  There  was  a  great  sick- 
ness at  her  heart — her  eyes  ached,  and  her  brain  was  giddy. 
She  was  tired, — very  tired — and  hardly  knowing  what  she 
did,  she  crept  like  a  beaten  and  wounded  animal  into  the 
room  which  had  formerly  been  her  own,  but  which  she  had 
so  long  cheerfully  resigned  for  Helmsley's  occupation  and 
better  comfort, — and  there  she  threw  herself  upon  the  bed 
where  he  had  died,  and  lay  for  a  long  time  in  a  kind  of 
waking  stupor. 

"  Oh,  dear  God,  help  me !  "  she  prayed — "  Help  me  to 
bear  it !  It  is  so  hard — so  hard ! — to  have  won  the  greatest 
joy  that  life  can  give — and  then — to  lose  it  all !  " 

She  closed  her  eyes, — they  were  hot  and  burning,  and  now 
no  tears  relieved  the  pressure  on  her  brain.  By  and  by  she 
fell  into  a  heavy  slumber.  As  the  afternoon  wore  slowly 
away,  Mrs.  Twitt,  on  neighbourly  thoughts  intent,  came  up 
to  the  cottage,  eager  to  hear  all  the  news  concerning  "  old 
David  " — but  she  found  the  kitchen  deserted ;  and  peeping 
into  the  bedroom  adjoining,  saw  Mary  lying  there  fast 
asleep,  with  Charlie  curled  up  beside  her. 

"  She's  just  dead  beat  and  tired  out  for  sure!  "  and  Mrs. 
Twitt  stole  softly  away  again  on  tip-toe.  "  T would  be 
real  cruel  to  wake  her.  I'll  put  a  bit  on  the  kitchen  fire  to 
keep  it  going,  and  take  myself  off.  There's  plenty  of  time 
to  hear  all  the  news  to-morrow." 

So,  being  left  undisturbed,  Mary  slept  on  and  on — and 


422      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

when  she  at  last  awoke  it  was  quite  dark.  Dark  save  for 
the  glimmer  of  the  moon  which  shone  with  a  white  vivid- 
ness through  the  lattice  window — shedding  on  the  room 
something  of  the  same  ghostly  light  as  on  the  night  when 
Helmsley  died.  She  sat  up,  pressing  her  hands  to  her 
throbbing  temples, — for  a  moment  she  hardly  knew  where 
she  was.  Then,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  recollection,  she 
realised  her  surroundings — and  smiled.  She  was  one  of 
the  richest  women  in  the  world ! — and — without  Angus — one 
of  the  poorest ! 

"  But  he  does  not  need  me  so  much  as  I  need  him ! "  she 
said  aloud — "  A  man  has  so  many  thing  to  live  for ;  but 
a  woman  has  only  one — love !  " 

She  rose  from  the  bed,  trembling  a  little.  She  thought 
she  saw  "  old  David  "  standing  near  the  door, — how  pale 
and  cold  he  seemed ! — what  a  sorrow  there  was  in  his  eyes ! 
She  stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  fancied  phantom. 

"  Don't, — don't  be  unhappy,  David  dear !  "  she  said — 
"  You  meant  all  for  the  best — I  know — I  know !  But  even 
you,  old  as  you  were,  tried  to  find  some  one  to  care  for 
you — and  you  see — surely  in  Heaven  you  see  how  hard  it 
is  for  me  to  have  found  that  some  one,  and  then  to  lose  him ! 
But  you  must  not  grieve ! — it  will  be  all  right !  " 

Mechanically  she  smoothed  her  tumbled  hair — and  taking 
up  Charlie  from  the  bed  where  he  was  anxiously  watching 
her,  she  went  into  the  kitchen.  A  small  fire  was  burning 
low — and  she  lit  the  lamp  and  set  it  on  the  table.  A  gust 
of  wind  rushed  round  the  house,  shaking  the  door  and  the 
window,  then  swept  away  again  with  a  plaintive  cry, — and 
pausing  to  listen,  she  heard  the  low,  thunderous  boom  of  the 
sea.  Moving  about  almost  automatically,  she  prepared 
Charlie's  supper  and  gave  it  to  him,  and  slipping  a  length  of 
ribbon  through  his  collar,  tied  him  securely  to  a  chair.  The 
little  animal  was  intelligent  enough  to  consider  this  an  un- 
usual proceeding  on  her  part — and  as  a  consequence  of  the 
impression  it  made  upon  his  canine  mind,  refused  to  take  his 
food.  She  saw  this — but  made  no  attempt  to  coax  or  per- 
suade him.  Opening  a  drawer  in  her  oaken  press,  she  took 
out  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  sitting  down  at  the  table  wrote 
a  letter.  It  was  not  a  long  letter — for  it  was  finished,  put 
in  an  envelope  and  sealed  in  less  than  ten  minutes.  Ad- 
dressing it  "  To  Angus  " — she  left  it  close  under  the  lamp 
where  the  light  might  fall  upon  it.  Then  she  looked  around 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   423 

her.  Everything  was  very  quiet.  Charlie  alone  was  rest- 
less— and  sat  on  his  tiny  haunches,  trembling  nervously,  re- 
fusing to  eat,  and  watching  her  every  movement.  She 
stooped  suddenly  and  kissed  him — then  without  hat  or  cloak, 
went  out,  closing  the  cottage  door  behind  her. 

What  a  night  it  was !  What  a  scene  of  wild  sky  splen- 
dour !  Overhead  the  moon,  now  at  the  full,  raced  through 
clouds  of  pearl-grey,  lightening  to  milky  whiteness,  and  the 
wind  played  among  the  trees  as  though  with  giant  hands, 
bending  them  to  and  fro  like  reeds,  and  rustling  through 
the  foliage  with  a  swishing  sound  like  that  of  falling  water. 
The  ripple  of  the  hill-torrent  was  almost  inaudible,  over- 
whelmed as  it  was  by  the  roar  of  the  gale  and  the  low 
thunder  of  the  sea — and  Mary,  going  swiftly  up  the 
"  coombe  "  to  the  churchyard,  was  caught  by  the  blast  like 
a  leaf,  and  blown  to  and  fro,  till  all  her  hair  came  tumbling 
about  her  face  and  almost  blinded  her  eyes.  But  she 
scarcely  heeded  this.  She  was  not  conscious  of  the  weather 
— she  knew  nothing  of  the  hour.  She  saw  the  moon — the 
white,  cold  moon,  staring  at  her  now  and  then  between  pin- 
nacles of  cloud — and  whenever  it  gleamed  whitely  upon  her 
path,  she  thought  of  David  Helmsley's  dead  face — its  still 
smile — its  peacefully  closed  eyelids.  And  with  that  face 
ever  before  her,  she  went  to  his  grave.  A  humble  grave — 
with  the  clods  of  earth  still  fresh  and  brown  upon  it — the 
chosen  grave  of  "  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  world !  " 
She  repeated  this  phrase  over  and  over  again  to  herself,  not 
knowing  why  she  did  so.  Then  she  knelt  down  and  tried 
to  pray,  but  could  find  no  words — save  "  O  God,  bless  my 
dear  love,  and  make  him  happy !  "  It  was  foolish  to  say 
this  so  often, — God  would  be  tired  of  it,  she  thought  dream- 
ily— but — after  all — there  was  nothing  else  to  pray  for! 
She  rose,  and  stood  a  moment — thinking — then  she  said 
aloud — "  Good-night,  David !  Dear  old  David,  you  meant 
to  make  me  so  happy !  Good-night !  Sleep  well !  " 

Something  frightened  her  at  this  moment, — a  sound — or  a 
shadow  on  the  grass — and  she  uttered  a  cry  of  terror.  Then, 
turning,  she  rushed  out  of  the  churchyard,  and  away — away 
up  the  hills,  towards  the  rocks  that  overhung  the  sea. 

Meanwhile,  Angus  Reay,  feverish  and  miserable,  had  been 
shut  up  in  his  one  humble  little  room  for  hours,  wrestling 
with  himself  and  trying  to  work  out  the  way  in  which  he 
could  best  master  and  overcome  what  he  chose  to  consider 


the  complete  wreck  of  his  life  at  what  had  promised  to  be 
its  highest  point  of  happiness.  He  could  not  shake  himself 
free  of  the  clinging  touch  of  Mary's  arms — her  lovely, 
haunting  blue  eyes  looked  at  him  piteously  out  of  the  very 
air.  Never  had  she  been  to  him  so  dear — so  unutterably 
beloved ! — never  had  she  seemed  so  beautiful  as  now  when 
he  felt  that  he  must  resign  all  claims  of  love  upon  her. 

"  For  she  will  be  sought  after  by  many  a  better  man  than 
myself," — he  said — "  Even  rich  men,  who  do  not  need  her 
millions,  are  likely  to  admire  her — and  why  should  I  stand 
in  her  way? — I,  who  haven't  a  penny  to  call  my  own!  I 
should  be  a  coward  if  I  kept  her  to  her  promise.  For  she 
does  not  know  yet — she  does  not  see  what  the  possession  of 
Helmsley's  millions  will  mean  to  her.  And  by  and  bye 
when  she  does  know  she  will  change — she  will  be  grateful 
to  me  for  setting  her  free " 

He  paused,  and  the  hot  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes — "  No — I 
am  wrong!  Nothing  will  change  Mary!  She  will  always 
be  her  sweet  self — pure  and  faithful! — and  she  will  do  all 
the  good  with  Helmsley's  money  that  he  believed  and  hoped 
she  would.  But  I — I  must  leave  her  to  it !  " 

Then  the  thought  came  to  him  that  he  had  perhaps  been 
rough  in  speech  to  her  that  day — abrupt  in  parting  from  her 
— even  unkind  in  overwhelming  her  with  the  force  of  his 
abnegation,  when  she  was  so  tired  with  her  journey — so 
worn  out — so  weary  looking.  Acting  on  a  sudden  impulse, 
he  threw  on  his  cap. 

"  I  will  go  and  say  good-night  to  her," — he  said — "  For 
the  last  time !  " 

He  strode  swiftly  up  the  village  street  and  saw  through 
the  cottage  window  that  the  lamp  was  lighted  on  the  table. 
He  knocked  at  the  door,  but  there  was  no  answer  save  a  tiny 
querulous  bark  from  Charlie.  He  tried  the  latch;  it  was 
unfastened,  and  he  entered.  The  first  object  he  saw  was 
Charlie,  tied  to  a  chair,  with  a  small  saucer  of  untasted  food 
beside  him.  The  little  dog  capered  to  the  length  of  his  rib- 
bon, and  mutely  expressed  the  absence  of  his  kind  mistress, 
while  Angus,  bewildered,  looked  round  the  deserted  dwelling 
in  amazement.  All  at  once  his  eyes  caught  sight  of  the  letter 
addressed  to  him,  and  he  tore  it  open.  It  was  very  brief, 
and  ran  thus — 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   425 

"  My  Dearest, 

"  When  you  read  this,  I  shall  be  gone  from  you.  I 
am  sorry,  oh,  so  sorry,  about  the  money — but  it  is  not 
my  fault  that  I  did  not  know  who  old  David  was.  I  hope 
now  that  everything  will  be  right,  when  I  am  out  of  the 
way.  I  did  not  tell  you — but  before  I  left  London  I  asked 
the  kind  gentleman,  Sir  Francis  Vesey,  to  let  me  make  a  will 
in  case  any  accident  happened  to  me  on  my  way  home.  He 
arranged  it  all  for  me  very  quickly — so  that  everything  I 
possess,  including  all  the  dreadful  fortune  that  has  parted 
you  from  me, — now  belongs  to  you.  And  you  will  be  a 
great  and  famous  man ;  and  I  am  sure  you  will  get  on  much 
better  without  me  than  with  me — for  I  am  not  clever,  and 
I  should  not  understand  how  to  live  in  the  world  as  the 
world  likes  to  live.  God  bless  you,  darling!  Thank  you 
for  loving  me,  who  am  so  unworthy  of  your  love!  Be 
happy!  David  and  I  will  perhaps  be  able  to  watch  you 
from  '  the  other  side,'  and  we  shall  be  proud  of  all  you  do. 
For  you  will  spend  those  terrible  millions  in  good  deeds  that 
must  benefit  all  the  world,  I  am  sure.  That  is  what  I  hoped 
we  might  perhaps  have  done  together — but  I  see  quite 
plainly  now  that  it  is  best  you  should  be  without  me.  My 
love,  whom  I  love  so  much  more  than  I  have  ever  dared  to 
say ! — Good-bye !  MARY." 

With  a  cry  like  that  of  a  man  in  physical  torture  or 
despair,  Angus  rushed  out  of  the  house. 

"  Mary !  Mary ! "  he  cried  to  the  tumbling  stream  and 
the  moonlit  sky.  "  Mary !  " 

He  paused.  Just  then  the  clock  in  the  little  church  tower 
struck  ten.  The  village  was  asleep — and  there  was  no 
sound  of  human  life  anywhere.  The  faint,  subtle  scent  of 
sweetbriar  stole  on  the  air  as  he  stood  in  a  trance  of  des- 
perate uncertainty — and  as  the  delicate  odour  floated  by, 
a  rush  of  tears  came  to  his  eyes. 

'  Mary !  "  he  called  again—"  Mary !  " 

Then  all  at  once  a  fearful  idea  entered  his  brain  that  filled 
him  as  it  were  with  a  mad  panic.  Rushing  up  the  coombe, 
he  sprang  across  the  torrent,  and  raced  over  the  adjoining 
hill,  as  though  racing  for  life.  Soon  in  front  of  him  tow- 
ered the  "  Giant's  Castle  "  Rock,  and  he  ran  up  its  steep 
ascent  with  an  almost  crazy  speed.  At  the  summit  he 
halted  abruptly,  looking  keenly  from  side  to  side.  Was 


426      THE     TREASURE     OF     HEAVEN 

there  any  one  there?  No.  There  seemed  to  be  no  one. 
Chilled  with  a  nameless  horror,  he  stood  watching — watch- 
ing and  listening  to  the  crashing  noise  of  the  great  billows 
as  they  broke  against  the  rocks  below.  He  raised  his  eyes 
to  the  heavens,  and  saw — almost  unseeingly — a  white 
cloud  break  asunder  and  show  a  dark  blue  space  between, 
— just  an  azure  setting  for  one  brilliant  star  that  shone 
out  with  a  sudden  flash  like  a  signal.  And  then — then  he 
caught  sight  of  a  dark  crouching  figure  in  the  corner  of 
the  rocky  platform  over-hanging  the  sea, — a  dear,  familiar 
figure  that  even  while  he  looked,  rose  up  and  advanced  to 
the  extreme  edge  with  outstretched  arms, — its  lovely  hair 
loosely  flowing  and  flecked  with  glints  of  gold  by  the  light 
of  the  moon.  Nearer,  nearer  to  the  very  edge  of  the  dizzy 
height  it  moved — and  Angus,  breathless  with  terror,  and 
fearing  to  utter  a  sound  lest  out  of  sudden  alarm -it  should 
leap  from  its  footing  and  be  lost  for  ever,  crept  closer  and 
ever  closer.  Closer  still, — and  he  heard  Mary's  sweet  voice 
murmuring  plaintively — 

"  I  wish  I  did  not  love  him  so  dearly !  I  wish  the  world 
were  not  so  beautiful !  I  wish  I  could  stay — but  I  must 
go — I  must  go! — "  Here  there  was  a  little  sobbing  cry 
— "  You  are  so  deep  and  cruel,  you  sea ! — you  have  drowned 
so  many  brave  men !  You  will  not  be  long  in  drowning 
poor  me,  will  you? — I  don't  want  to  struggle  with  you! 
Cover  me  up  quickly — and  let  me  forget — oh,  no,  no!  Dear 
God,  don't  let  me  forget  Angus ! — I  want  to  remember  him 
always — always !  " 

She  swayed  towards  the  brink — one  second  more — and 
then,  with  a  swift  strong  clasp  and  passionate  cry  Angus 
had  caught  her  in  her  arms. 

"  Mary  !  Mary,  my  love !  My  wife !  Anything  but  that, 
Mary !  Anything  but  that !  " 

Heart  to  heart  they  stood,  their  arms  entwined,  clasp- 
ing each  other  in  a  wild  passion  of  tenderness, — Angus 
trembling  in  all  his  strong  frame  with  the  excitement  and 
horror  of  the  past  moment,  and  Mary  sobbing  out  all  her 
weakness,  weariness  and  gladness  on  his  breast.  Above 
their  heads  the  bright  star  shone,  pendant  between  the  snowy 
wings  of  the  dividing  cloud,  and  the  sound  of  the  sea  was 
as  a  sacred  psalm  of  jubilation  in  their  ears. 

"  Thank  God  I  came  in  time !  Thank  God  I  have  you 
safe ! "  and  Angus  drew  her  closer  and  yet  closer  into  his 


THE  TREASURE  OF  HEAVEN   427 

fervent  embrace — "  Oh  Mary,  my  darling ! — sweetest  of 
women !  How  could  you  think  of  leaving  me  ?  What 
should  I  have  done  without  you !  Poverty  or  riches — either 
or  neither — I  care  not  which !  But  I  cannot  lose  you,  Mary ! 
I  cannot  let  my  heavenly  treasure  go!  Nothing  else  mat- 
ters in  all  the  world — I  only  want  love — and  you !  " 


THE    END 


